


Love in a McHopeless Place

by Weasleychick32



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), BAMF Castiel, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bobby is surrounded by idjits, College Student Sam, Communication Failure, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Sam Winchester, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Demisexuality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, High School Student Sam, Homeless Castiel, Librarian Castiel, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mechanic Dean, Non-Explicit Sex, POV Alternating, POV Castiel, POV Dean, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Dean Winchester, References to Canon, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 110,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7013533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weasleychick32/pseuds/Weasleychick32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout his years working at McDonald’s Dean has experienced a great number of awkward, unsanitary, and just plain strange situations, but what exactly is he supposed to do when he finds a homeless man sleeping in the playplace? This isn’t in the employee handbook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! So this is supposed to be part of the acespnminibang, but clearly has exploded well past the point of being anything close to "mini". In my defense, they said there wasn't a limit on how long it could be. It has been a long journey of late nights and MIA betas, but I made it! A huge shout out and thank you to my sister for stepping up to the plate and helping me get this ready to post! THANK YOU! That being said, any mistakes are my own and if you could be so kind as to point out any flaws I'd like the chance to fix them.  
>   
> Another shout out to my pinch hitting artist emmatheslayer on tumblr for stepping in at the last minute and putting together some art for me. You're a rock star!  
>   
> And to my original artist who had to drop out due to personal concerns, I hope things are looking up!  
>   
> Anyhow, enjoy and let me know what you think!

[](http://imgur.com/y5rbu38)

**.**

**— Dean —**

**.**

“I know you’re in there.”

Dean saw the guy, probably about the same age as himself, crawl up into the playplace tunnel about a half hour earlier despite being much too large. He has yet to come down and while normally Dean wouldn’t really give a shit, tonight is his night to clean and close down the play area.

“I can’t lock up until you leave.”

Dean’s no fool. He _saw_ the guy after all. Unkempt beard, long tattered tan coat, matted greasy hair; he’s definitely homeless and surely just looking for shelter away from the negative 20-degree wind chill that Kansas has decided to bless them with for the past two weeks. Hell, this probably isn’t the first time the guy has slept up in the playplace. If Dean’s job wasn’t on the line he’d probably just turn a blind eye and let the guy sleep where he can. But Dean _needs_ this job so he can’t take that risk.

“Look,” Dean rests against the mop protruding from his oversized yellow bucket and tips his face up towards the blue tunnel, the only one that’s miraculously without grimy windows decorated with scuzzy kid sized handprints. “I’ll make you a deal. You come down easy so I don’t have to climb up there after you and poke you with my mop until you leave and I’ll figure out somewhere warm for you to stay for the night.”

Dean’s no monster and there’s no way anyone could survive a night out in this kind of weather. He’s not about to send the man to his death. Of course there’s always the homeless shelter downtown, but the guy has got to have a reason for choosing the McDonald's fucking playplace over a warm bed so Dean’s not even gonna ask. It’s not his business.

“I’ll let you think on it while I attempt to disinfect this germ factory.”

Dean scrunches his nose and presses his lips together tightly as his gaze sweeps around the play area. It’s a closed off room just like all McDonald's play places, but it always amazes Dean how scummy it gets. The main eatery is bad enough, but the playplace? It’s a whole ‘nother level of _eww_.

With a sigh Dean grabs his broom and starts sweeping. Cups. Straws. Napkins. A stray sock. Someone’s retainer? It all gets swept up and dumped in the trash. Dean feels kinda bad about the retainer. Those fuckers are ex-pen- _sive_ and he would know; Sam had to have one after his braces came off, but if that was Sammy’s retainer there’d be no way in hell Dean would ever let him put that back in his mouth. No amount of bleach can make that sanitary again so it goes in the trash. He is merciful after all.

The tables get sprayed down with disinfectant and wiped down along with the benches and chairs. It is _unbelievable_ how the grease spreads so far and wide and don’t even get him started on the pools of melted ice cream and dried on ketchup. What kind of adult just leaves that kind of mess for someone else to clean up for them. Fucking disrespectful. Dean knows better than to dwell on it though, it’ll only get him all in a rage and that won’t be any good for anybody.

The trash is dumped, the floors mopped, doors and windows squeegeed, and the bathroom fumigated. Finally, Dean is done. Thank God a company comes in once a week to crawl around and de-yuckify the gerbil gymnasium so he doesn’t have to worry about it.

“Alright,” Dean says, wiping the back of his arm over his forehead and squinting up at the blue tunnel again. He’s tired. Andy had a family emergency come up so Dean covered his shift and then worked his own. He’s been in this God forsaken hell hole since 7am. He’s exhausted.

“Time’s up. You come down and I help you or I _make_ you come down and you’re on your own.”

“Dean? Who are you talking to?”

Dean whirls around and almost trips over the mop bucket. Lisa, the only employee besides him stuck working the closing shift, is standing holding open the door to the playplace, her eyebrows pinched together as she stares at Dean.

“Huh? Oh, uh, I was talking to myself. It’s been a long day.” Dean smiles in a loopy, sleep deprived kind of way that he doesn’t have to fake at all.

“Right,” Lisa says, “Maybe you should just head home. I could finish up in here for you.”

“Nah it’s okay,” Dean is quick to answer. “I’m pretty much done anyway. It’ll just be another minute.”

He flashes her a grin, but she just frowns.

“Alright, if you’re sure.”

"Yep!”

“Okay then. See you later.”

“See ya.”

Dean smiles at her until she leaves and then waits, watching until she goes back into the front, turns off all the lights that Dean won’t need, and then walks out the front door. Dean slumps in relief when her headlights flash across the windows and she pulls out of the parking lot. _Whew_.

“Okay, the coast is clear. Now get your ass down here. I want to go home.”

“Where will I go?”

Dean jumps at the voice, which is stupid because he’s been standing here talking to the owner of it for a good hour now. It’s deeper than he’d expected for one thing and he’d been kind of getting used to being ignored.

“I know a place,” Dean finally says. “He’ll put you to work though so I hope you’ve got a strong back.”

“He’ll give me work?” A dark mop of hair suddenly pops up behind the slatted holes in the yellow tube directly to the left of the blue tunnel. Under the hair is a pair of earnest blue eyes, wide and ridiculously hopeful.

“Hell yeah he will. My uh, uncle’s always got stuff that needs done.”

Dean wonders briefly why the guy can’t find a job on his own (hell Dean’s got _three_ jobs), but only for a moment. He’s too tired to really get into anything that requires too much thought. All he knows is he needs to get this guy set back up on his feet and make sure he’s got a warm safe place to stay and food in his belly and clean clothes on his back so that Dean can go home with a clear conscious. He’s exhausted and he feels like he hasn’t actually talked to Sammy outside of yelling at him for not replacing the towel after he showered since last Tuesday.

The guy in the yellow tunnel pins Dean down with a hard stare for a long moment and Dean feels like he can’t breathe before finally, he blinks and Dean can move again.

“Why didn’t you tell that woman I was here?”

“What? I dunno man. Just… cuz.” Dean scratches the back of his neck. Probably because Lisa’s got enough problems without having to worry about the homeless guy in the playplace. Dean knows firsthand that being a single parent ain’t easy.

The guy stares for another long moment and then finally comes to a decision.

“Okay.”

His face disappears and Dean watches in mild amusement as the oversized trench coat shimmies its way through the yellow tube, across the black netting, past the red sphere, and then scoots out the end of the purple slide. The hamster home is definitely not adult sized and as the guy gets to his feet Dean can see that he’s really not much smaller than Dean himself and maybe just a little older. Dean would never in a million years willingly crawl through that thing so Dean figures the guy must be pretty damn desperate.

“My name is Castiel,” the guy says, stretching out his right hand.

Dean shakes his head and even takes a step back.

“Uh-uh. Sanitize first,” he says, pointing to the GermX dispenser attached to the top of the plastic shoe housing unit.

Castiel’s shoulders hunch in and his eyes drop to the floor in unison with his outstretched hand, returning it to its place at his side.

“Of course. My apologies,” he murmurs and shuffles over to the hand sanitizer.

A ping of guilt strikes Dean in the chest. That’s not what he meant.

“That’s not what I— I just… Because the playplace. It’s a germ mansion. It’s disgusting. Trust me,” he tries to explain. Castiel squirts a good helping of the sanitizer onto his palm and then begins rubbing it in without looking up at Dean.

“I understand,” he says to his hands.

Dean frowns.

“I don’t think you do. One time this kid puked in there. I’m talking nugget chunks and red Hi-C and God knows what the hell else and you know what we did? We sent someone in there with some paper towels and a plastic sack and that was all the cleaning it got until the cleaning company came, _three days later_. And another time, this kid shit in the slide and like four other kids slid through it before anyone figured it out. There was just– shit everywhere. Shit just… _everywhere_. It was… I can’t even describe how awful that was. The smell alone… Three people quit and we were short staffed for the next two months.”

Castiel is looking at Dean now, his expression twisted into one of horror. He glances down at his hands and grimaces before pumping out two more helpings of hand sanitizer.

“Yeah. My kids will never ever come to one of these places. Well, if I ever have kids I mean,” he says with a shrug.

“I assumed there would be a strict cleaning regimen in place,” Castiel says.

“Well there’s supposed to be, but you know how people are. Lazy. Cutting corners wherever they can get away with it.” Dean shrugs. “And kids are gross. I mean, kids are awesome! I love kids. But they’re gross.”

“You seem to have done an exemplary job cleaning,” Castiel says, looking around. And Dean is proud to say, the place is pretty damn spotless.

“Yeah, I’m kind of anal about it I guess,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down at Castiel’s shoes (scuffed and worn sneakers). “Everyone here gives me a hard time for it, but it’s where kids play. I’m not just going to leave it dirty.” Dean shrugs again. “But anyway. Let’s get the hell out of here man. I’m beat. Oh and I’m Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester.”

Castiel has his head tilted to the side as he observes him, but he straightens at Dean’s words and nods.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dean Winchester.”

He doesn’t hold out his hand this time, but Dean is too tired to really notice.

“Where’s your stuff?” he asks. Castiel frowns and tips his face towards the floor as he scuffs the toe of his dying sneaker against the floor.

“Gone. I had more, but I placed my trust in the wrong person and now I—,” he lifts his arms a bit and frowns at the sleeves of his coat. “This is everything.”

Dean doesn’t really know what to say to that. Sure, he’s been a student at the school of hard knocks since age four, but he’s never been quite so far down that all he had was literally the clothes on his back. He’s always had Sam at least.

“Sucks dude,” he kind of mutters, wincing internally at such a stupid thing to say.

“Yes,” is all Castiel says in response so Dean drops that topic like a hot potato and starts clearing up.

He puts away his cleaning supplies and shuts off lights as he makes his way back to the front of the restaurant, Castiel trailing behind. He darts into the break room to grab his stuff and then he and Castiel are out the door and into the harsh, bone chilling wind. Dean locks the door behind him with a satisfying _click_ and they hurry off to the back of the parking lot where the employees park.

“ _This_ is my Baby. She’s gorgeous ain’t she?” Dean says, swinging his arm out wide as he showcases the ‘67 Impala in all of her gleaming black glory.

“Ahem, she is very… shiny,” Castiel says. He shifts uncomfortably, flicking a small glance at Dean before wincing and darting his gaze away as he crosses his arms and hunches in the wind, trench coat pulled tight around his thin frame.

Dean’s jaw drops open and he pulls a face.

“Oh dude,” he moans, but lets it go for now; he’s just so damn tired and it’s fucking cold out. He motions for Castiel to go ahead and get in the passenger side door, which Castiel does quickly, like Dean might change his mind and leave him to freeze for insulting Baby. Dean only thinks about it for a second. Honestly. Just one. Maybe one and a half tops.

Dean starts up the Impala and while he waits for her to warm up he calls Bobby to let him know he’s coming over with company. Dean explains the situation, giving away only the barest details, and Bobby replies with a deep sigh.

“Idjit,” he says with a growl that Dean decides has a core of fondness. “Don’t bother wakin’ me up when ya get here. You know where to put ‘im.”

“Sir, yes sir!” Dean chirps before hanging up and tucking his phone under his thigh. He knows he really shouldn’t put it there, considering the number of times he’s slid out of the Impala and his phone slipped out with him and hit the concrete, but it’s become a habit by now and it’s one he’s too lazy to break.

Dean glances sideways across at Castiel and shifts into reverse.

“Bobby’s kinda rough around the edges, but he’s fair and he’ll do you right so long as you do right by him,” he feels obligated to explain.

First impressions are one of Bobby’s failings, not that Dean would dare to ever tell him that to his face. Bobby is the closest thing Sam and Dean have ever had to a father. He used to own a salvage yard up in South Dakota, but after John died two years previous (liver failure to no one’s surprise) he came to Lawrence to help Dean get set up with custody of 14-year-old Sam and to make sure that they were managing alright.

Then he just stayed. He sold his salvage yard and bought a house with an industrial sized garage just outside of town and sort of fell into the automotive repair business. It’s just him and Dean so, even though he really doesn’t get that many customers, he’ll have plenty of work for Castiel.

“I will ensure that my presence causes him no unavoidable grief,” Castiel promises.

Dean snorts. Castiel talks like a scholar and looks like he got run over by a garbage truck. There’s some irony in there, but Dean’s thoughts drift before he can focus enough to catch it.

“It’ll be fine. Trust me. He’s done this before.” Like twice, but still. Basically, Bobby assigned Sam and Dean each a room at his place and told them they could do whatever the hell the want with them so long as there’s no lasting structural damage so there’s been a few times that Dean has opened up the room to people who could use a leg up. Sam mostly uses his as a place to store his overflow of books and one time tried to hide a stray cat in there until Dean’s allergies gave it away.

“Is this a habit for you? Helping strangers?” Castiel asks, peering at him curiously.

“Ah kinda? Well, no actually, not really” Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel and tries to avoid scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck, a nervous tick. “This is only the fourth time and the other three were… different.”

He remembers first meeting Charlie, dirty and young and scared, thinking the FBI were going to arrest her for channeling funds from some douche bag senator to the hospital her mom was comatose in. She’d run from her foster home the year before and was now legally an adult, but had nothing. So Dean did what he could to help her out and now she’s like an annoying little sister that he sees once a month for game night.

The second was some John Doe who Dean is pretty sure was homeless. He smelled like it anyway. He found him slumped on the side of the road half out of his mind with fever and Dean drove him to a hospital. He never did get that guy’s name.

The other time was much less successful. He found some punk kid named Krissy (Maybe. She probably lied) at the CoffeeHouse digging through their trash and got her some food and in return got a kick in the nads and his wallet stolen. He’s still pissed about it and has been a little gun shy about helping people since. But Castiel seems like a good place to start again. He at least seems to _want_ help at any rate.

“You’re a good man, Dean Winchester.”

“Ah c’mon don’t make it weird,” Dean complains, slouching down in his seat and punching on the radio. Castiel ignores Led Zeppelin and raises his voice slightly to be heard over the wailing guitar solo.

“You found a homeless man that you don’t know in a child’s play area at your workplace and instead of calling the police like anyone else would have done, you invited him into your vehicle with you alone and are transporting him to your relative’s home. I believe it is already ‘weird’,” Castiel says dryly, using finger quotations and everything.

Dean glances over at him once and bursts out laughing.

“Touché,” he says with a grin. “And Bobby’s not really my uncle, not by blood anyway. He’s still family though.”

Castiel hums and turns to watch out the window as the houses become fewer and farther between the closer they get to the edge of town. “That must be nice.”

Dean glances over, questions burning the tip of his tongue, but one look at Castiel’s sad distant expression has him swallowing them. _Not my business_ , he reminds himself. When he turns onto Bobby’s long gravel drive minutes later, still neither of them have spoken. The silence, while not uncomfortable, is strange. It feels one sided somehow. Like Dean is the only one aware of it while Castiel is off in his thoughts somewhere else entirely. Maybe that’s just how people get when they’ve been alone for so long.

The Impala rolls to a stop in front of an old two story farm house with yellow shutters that Bobby definitely did not pick out, but hasn’t been bothered to paint over since he moved in. Dean turns off the ignition and thankfully the sudden absence of _Kashmir_ is enough to pull Castiel from his thoughts. Castiel straightens and blinks up at the home looming above them through the windshield.

Dean clears his throat.

“So this is it. It’s not much. I mean, it’s a decent place, but it’s kinda old and drafty and–,”

“It looks perfect, Dean,” Castiel interrupts him, serious blue eyes now focused on Dean and unnaturally bright in the dark interior of the Impala. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for your kindness.”

Dean squirms uncomfortably in his seat.

“Don’t worry about it man.” He coughs and then dredges up a smile and nods to the house. “Let me show you where you’re gonna sleep and then I’ve gotta hit the road.”

Castiel nods and they both exit the car into the harsh winter night. Dean jogs up onto the front porch, automatically skipping the caved in step and not bothering with the wobbly metal railing. Castiel follows much more slowly, each step carefully planned and deliberate in its execution. Dean tries the doorknob, satisfied when it turns easily. Bobby left it unlocked for them.

“Alright, Bobby said not to wake him so we’re gonna do this quietly alright? The second, fifth, and seventh steps squeak unless you step on the outside of the stair and the door to the guest room slams open if you’re too rough with it.”

Castiel nods, expression drawn with serious intent. Dean represses a smile. It’s like he’s preparing himself for some kind of super important mission. With a jerk of his head Dean opens the front door and slips into the house, Castiel close on his heels. They get to the guest room without incident and Dean quickly tells him where the bathroom is should he need it and that he’s free to make himself at home.

“Okay man, you can shower in the morning, don’t wanna wake Bobby. The hot and cold are backwards, but the pressure’s decent. I’ve gotta get going. I really need to get some sleep. I’ve gotta open the coffee shop tomorrow,” Dean explains through a yawn. It’s been a long day. Castiel frowns, his brow furrowing and his head tilting sideways seemingly of its own violation.

“You work at McDonald’s,” he says like Dean may have forgotten. Dean laughs softly.

“Yeah, and the CoffeeHouse and I help out Bobby with his shop when I get the chance,” he adds and then shrugs when Castiel confusion changes to bewilderment.

“Oh,” the man says. “That’s a lot, isn’t it?”

Dean shrugs again and rubs the back of his neck.

“You do what you gotta do,” is all he says, leaving off how he has to be able to take care of Sammy.

He doesn’t tell him about how he used to only have the CoffeeHouse job back before his dad died, but then the old man bit it and it was only then that he picked up the other two jobs in a desperate attempt to hit the income requirement so that he’d be eligible as Sammy’s legal guardian. He doesn’t tell him anything about how tired he is all the time and how since he had to start working all the time he hardly sees his baby brother and that despite them living together he feels like he’s missing out on Sam’s life. He definitely doesn’t say any of that.

“Listen man,” Dean scrubs a hand down his face, suddenly ten times more tired than he was a minute ago. “I gotta get going, but I’ll come back and check on you soon, alright?”

Castiel nods.

“Of course. Thank you. Really, thank you.”

“It’s whatever dude,” Dean mumbles, shuffling his feet and taking a step back towards the door. “Don’t let Bobby get under your skin tomorrow, alright? He puts on a big show of being a grumpy asshole the first week or so to see if you’ll stick it out. Mind you, he _is_ a grumpy asshole, but he’s a good guy and he’ll do right by you.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage. Sleep well, Dean,” Castiel imparts with a small, close-lipped smile, just a little baby of a thing.

“See ya, Cas.”

Dean closes the guest room door behind him and then locks the front door as he leaves. He doesn’t remember much of his drive to the tiny little apartment him and Sam are renting, but when he gets there Sam is camped out on the couch with a chemistry book open in his lap while the TV flashes blue tinged lights over the walls and Sam’s peacefully sleeping face. Dean smiles a bit sadly. It’s not the first time Sammy has fallen asleep waiting for Dean to get home.

Carefully, Dean slides the textbook out of Sam’s slack grip and sets it pages down on the old, stained coffee table, making sure to leave it open to where Sam left off. Then he grabs the old quilt from where it’s wadded up in the corner of the couch and shakes it out before laying over his sleeping brother. He resists the urge to ruffle Sam’s hair, not wanting to wake him and instead pads quietly to his room and collapses face down on his comforter without bothering to remove his clothes. He’s asleep within minutes.


	2. Chapter Two

**_._ **

**_— Castiel —_ **

**_._ **

Castiel sucks in a deep breath and rockets up into a sitting position without making a sound; too used to waking up in places he’s not entirely allowed to be. Blankets slide from his chest to pool around his waist and he blinks down at them wondering how they got there. He hasn’t slept with blankets since…

He’s in a bed too, inside a room, a bedroom. His gaze falls upon his trench coat hanging on a hook on the back of the door and his memories come flooding back through the hazy fog left over from a very rare good night’s sleep.

Dean. Dean brought him to his not-uncle’s house to stay and work to earn his keep and made sure he had a warm bed for the night. Castiel sniffs and picks the sleep out of the corners of his eyes instead of giving into the sudden prickling behind them and the burning in his throat. The act of kindness is unprecedented. Mostly people look away and pretend they can’t see him, sometimes people are outright cruel, hardly ever are they kind and _never_ are they so kind as to take him in and ensure that he is cared for. Except Dean.

Castiel roughly grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes and then decisively throws off his blankets. He’s determined to make this work. He won’t be getting a chance like this again so he needs to take it and run with it for as far as it will take him. He is so incredibly tired of being cold and dirty and hungry.

He pads around the room quietly. The sun is up, but barely and he’s not sure exactly what time it is or how early Bobby usually gets up and doesn’t want to disrupt the man’s life any more than he already is. He makes the bed, tucking the bottom corners under the mattress and pulling the comforter tight over the top. There are a few inexplicable lumps that he just can’t get to disappear, but he deems the job good enough for a first ever attempt and makes his way to the bathroom.

He barely remembers Dean’s warning about the guest room door, but manages to catch it before it slams open into the wall. He lets out a silent breath at the close call, although he can see that he would hardly be the first victim of the door judging by the doorknob shaped hole in the drywall.

The bathroom is easy enough to find, even without Dean’s instructions. It’s the only open door in the hall, directly at the end. Castiel turns on the light and locks himself in. It’s not spotless by any means, but it’s certainly better than public bathrooms. There is a small standalone sink with a mirrored cabinet over the top of it and an enclosed shower rather than a tub. This is fine with Castiel. He’d much rather wash away the grime and dried sweat coating his skin than soak in it.

Castiel fights with the shower for a few minutes, trying to get it anything other than ice cold before he remembers Dean’s last minute revelation the night before that the knobs are reversed. After that the shower comes along easily. Dean was right, it does have nice water pressure. Castiel struggles to not stay under the hot spray until it runs out. That would not be very considerate to his host.

He scrubs his skin until it turns pink under his hands. He doesn’t use the loofah hanging from the shower head, assuming that would not be polite, not to mention sanitary, but he does use the shampoo and body wash liberally. Briefly, he considers acquiring one of the blue disposable razors he found under the sink when he was looking for a fresh towel, but he decides in this instance, asking for permission rather than forgiveness is the more logical route. Bobby, after all, has no obligation to him. If he thinks Castiel is stealing or less than trustworthy then Castiel will be kicked out and will have blown his best chance at digging himself out of the hole he threw himself down into.

With a frown of distaste, Castiel pulls his dirty clothes back on. They’re all he has left: a ratty grey t-shirt, worn and frayed jeans, and a red hooded sweater that is starting to look more brown than red. Coupled with his well-loved trench and his old running shoes, they’re the only possessions he has left. It’s a very different situation to the one he grew up in.

He shakes away the old memories. He can’t go back there, more than that, he doesn’t want to. There is nothing for him there but hostility and expectations that he could never live up to, even if he wanted to. He’s not missing anything from before except the security of having a safe place, he lies to himself. Although in hindsight, he never even had that, did he?

Castiel opens the mirrored cupboard and has to hold back tears at the sight of the mostly full tube of toothpaste. It’s been much too long. He squeezes a stripe onto his finger and scrubs down all of his teeth for a full five minutes. Never again will he shirk time off of brushing his teeth. When he finishes, he rinses his mouth and cleans his finger, feeling like he’s ready to take on the world.

He checks to make sure he didn’t leave behind a mess and, seeing he hasn’t, opens the bathroom door and almost walks into someone. He jumps back three feet, automatically bringing his hands up defensively, his heart pounding so fast in his chest it hurts. An older scowling man is standing just on the other side of the threshold glaring at Castiel.

“Good, you’re done,” the man grouses, sounding irritated despite his words. “Breakfast is ready.”

The man, Bobby, Castiel assumes, turns and stomps off down the hall and then the stairs without a backward glance. Castiel stands there for a long moment watching after him and trying to convince his heart rate to return to normal and for the nervous sweat threatening to break out across his skin to go away. Not wanting to create a poor first impression, Castiel flips off the bathroom light and hurries down to the kitchen.

The kitchen is similar to the bathroom in the way that it has a worn, lived in feel though it’s strange that in lieu of a table there is a desk surrounded by three kitchen chairs. Anna would call it a quirk and she would say it in a way that shows her appreciation of all things irregular. Like Castiel.

There are two bowls set out on the small wooden desk and Bobby is seated in front of one of them, but the thing Castiel notices first and foremost, is the permeating scent of coffee in the air. It’s been so long since he’s had a hot cup of coffee and yet his body still craves it. A headache sets in behind his eyes from the smell alone, but Castiel doesn’t dare ask for any. He is already imposing enough without asking for more.

Castiel cautiously lowers himself into the chair opposite Bobby. He says nothing, unsure of the social aspect of this kind of thing. Does he just eat? Is he supposed to compliment Bobby’s cooking? He doesn’t know. Not that… whatever is in the bowl required any cooking. It appears to be small round brown bits of something floating in... milk? Castiel shifts the circles around with his spoon. They seem like they would be crunchy. Maybe the milk is meant to soften them?

“You plannin’ on introducin’ yourself anytime this decade boy?”

Castiel jumps in his seat and turns wide eyes up to the man across from him. Bobby is glaring at him and Castiel has to swallow hard and remember what Dean said about Bobby trying to break him.

“Yes, of course. Apologies. Um, I am Castiel.”

Bobby scoffs.

“Robert Singer. You got a last name to go with that waffle?”

Castiel is thrown for a moment by the mention of a waffle. He frowns down at the bowl in front of him wondering if perhaps Bobby is under the impression that the bowl in front of him contains waffles, but believes he understands the question well enough that he doesn’t ask for clarification. He hesitates though. He doesn’t want to lie to Bobby, or Dean by extension, but there’s no chance that he’s going to associate himself with the name _Novak_. Not anymore. That era of his life is well and truly over.

“No,” he eventually says. “Just Castiel. Although Cas is fine should you wish to shorten it…” Castiel trails off at the hard look that Bobby levels him with. Bobby shakes his head and stuffs a large spoonful of the milky circles into his mouth and chews harshly. As Castiel watches, milk dribbles from the spoon and catches in his beard. Castiel turns his face down to his own bowl of not-waffles and says nothing. He spoons up a heap of the strange circles and stuffs them in his mouth more to avoid conversation than any desire to ingest them.

A surprised sort of hum escapes him at the nectarous flavor and the combination of the crunchy circles and the sweet moisture brought by the milk. He swallows and the lump of chewed food lands in his hallowed stomach, setting off a delayed grumble and suddenly Castiel is reminded that he is _ravenous_. Yesterday he had only managed to eat an abandoned carton of cold chewy fries and that was all for the entire day. The day before was not much better.

He tries to pace himself as he shovels down the food so as not to come off like some sort of unrefined ruffian, but he’s afraid he may have failed in that regard when Bobby drops a golden brown cardboard box and a half full gallon of milk on the table in front of him. Castiel flinches. He hadn’t even noticed when Bobby stood up to retrieve them.

“Eat your fill and then meet me out in the garage. Try not to make yourself sick.”

Castiel feels his face turn hot. He hurries to swallow his food and calls out a thank you to Bobby as the older man retreats out the backdoor. Bobby shuts the door behind him like he didn’t hear, but Castiel knows that he did. Castiel slumps down in his seat and lets out a long breath.

He hates this, being so reliant on a stranger. Especially a stranger that doesn’t seem to want him around. He refills his bowl and tries to summon up the resolve he felt the night before and again this morning. He _is_ taking this opportunity. He _is_ going to make this work. He _is_ going to turn his life around and get back on his feet and he is going to prove his father wrong. He is.

He feels a bit better having gathered himself and stuffs a heaping spoonful into his mouth. His gaze turns to the gold box before him as he chews, more carefully than before. There’s a picture of a bowl filled with the sweet crunchy circles and an animated bee touching a wooden honey dipper to the contents. _Honey Nut Cheerios, sweetened breakfast cereal_.

Castiel decides he likes Honey Nut Cheerios. Very much.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

The garage is big. Very big. When Bobby asked him to meet him out at the garage Castiel was expecting a regular two car garage not a _warehouse_. He walks up to one of three sets of open bay doors and just kind of hovers there, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweater to try and keep them warm, though thankfully it’s warmer out than it has been lately. If you could call above zero warm.

He’s not sure where exactly he’s supposed to meet Bobby considering he isn’t in Castiel’s immediate line of sight and he’s afraid of touching anything lest he injure himself or break something. There are many things he doesn’t recognize, lots of metal components to unknown things simply lying around. Tools, jugs of various liquids, hoses and cords that drape down from the ceiling, and hunks of car litter the place. There are two car lifts, one of which has an actual car on it raised high in the air. Castiel gets a sick feeling in his stomach. Surely, Bobby won’t expect him to—

“You gonna come in or just stand there like a fish outta water?” Bobby’s voice comes echoing from the far right corner, caddy corner to where Castiel stands. Castiel takes a single step into what he has deduced is an automotive repair shop of some kind and suddenly has a clear view of Bobby coming into the main garage from a door in the back labeled “Employees Only”.

“I… umm…” Castiel trails off.

“What d’you know about cars?” Bobby asks, ignoring the failed attempt at communication.

“Nothing,” Castiel answers too quickly. “I mean, I can _drive_ , not a stick shift, but a regular... and I umm, I added windshield wiper fluid once.” Castiel casually leaves off that he has only actually driven twice in his lifetime and both times were when his cousin Gabriel snuck him out of the house and taught him in an abandoned parking lot. The second time they actually left the parking lot and drove on the road, but Castiel kept hitting the curb on turns and Gabriel didn’t take him out anymore after that.

Bobby stares for a prolonged moment and then sighs.

“Oh boy,” he says.

Castiel nods.

“Yes,” he agrees. “When Dean said you would have work for me, I didn’t think… I didn’t know…” Castiel trails off and gestures helplessly at the garage. He can’t do this. A spike of panic stabs his gut at the thought. Yes, he can, he has to. “But I can… I can try. If you’re willing to teach me. I work hard. And I— I can—,”

“Alright boy, un-wad yer panties. I ain’t turnin’ yeh out yet,” Bobby interrupts. With one hand Bobby sweeps his sweat stained ball cap off his head and scrubs at the sparse hair there before replacing it.

“Okay, I’m gonna start ya out small. I’m gonna teach you how to do an oil change and then we can get you going on changin’ out some brake pads. Simple stuff. You’ll have it down in no time,” Bobby decides.

Castiel nods along in agreement while he internally panics. He can’t be in charge of making sure someone is returned their vehicle in working condition. What if he breaks something? They’d have to order in a replacement part, right? Then the customer would have to wait longer and Bobby would lose the money that the part cost him and possibly the return service of the customer and it would be all Castiel’s fault. Oh God. He can’t do this.

“C’mon, I’ve got a scrap car in the back you can practice on,” Bobby continues.

Castiel’s breath whooshes out of him and his shoulders lose some of their tension. Bobby notices and snorts.

“Didja think I’d be foolish enough to let you at some poor sap’s car who’s payin’ me to fix it when all you know how to do is add wiper fluid and drive a ‘regular’ car,” Bobby laughs.

Castiel’s not entirely sure why Bobby put the emphasis on _regular_ , but he agrees with the sentiment. It would have been foolish and he was foolish to fret about it.

On his way out and around to the back of the building, Bobby grabs several items that Castiel hasn’t a prayer of naming: a tool, a large silver container that looks kind of like a very large and very deep pie tin, and a cylindrical thing with folded edges of what looks like paper sticking out like an accordion all the way around the exterior. Castiel follows behind, silently pulling his sweater tighter around him and wishing for some thick coveralls like what Bobby’s wearing and some gloves.

Bobby briskly walks him through how to do the oil change, making him jack up the car and place wedges behind the tires to keep it from rolling. Bobby starts the car, telling him that it has to warm up a bit to warm the oil to make sure all of the “dirt and shit” will drain with the rest of the oil.

He tells Castiel to shut off the car and walks him around to under the hood where he shows him where the oil cap is located and has him remove it. Then he makes him lay down with him under the car so he can show Castiel the oil pan and how to fit the socket wrench (that’s what that tool he brought out is called) on the bolt (called the oil plug) to remove it and make the oil drain. Bobby warns him that as soon as the plug is removed the oil is going to come spilling out so make sure the drain pan (the oversized pie tin) is in place to catch it all before starting.

Then he rolls out from under the car and lets Castiel try his hand at it. That’s where things go wrong. Castiel places the drain pan directly below the oil plug and then works at it with the socket, trying to loosen it. It’s hard at first because the space under the car is so tight that it’s hard to get any leverage, but finally the bolt begins to turn. Castiel cranks and cranks until finally the bolt slips loose.

Immediately, oil begins pouring from the opening, only instead of pouring straight down into the pan, it comes out at angle. Castiel only has half a second to slam his eyes shut and make some sort of sound of displeasure in the back of his throat before warm oil is cascading all over his face and dripping down his neck to soak into his clothes.

He jerks back and manages to bang the back of his head on something metal hanging from the bottom of the car. Shooting pain starbursts from the point of impact. He fumbles blindly at where he left the drain pan and manages to pull it over until he hears the oil splattering into the bottom of it rather than the frozen ground and then crawls out from under the car, feeling blindly, but carefully with his hands to make sure he clears every last blasted bit of car before getting to his feet and scrubbing at his face with his sleeves.

“Here son,” he hears Bobby say and a towel is pressed into his hand.

Castiel accepts gratefully, but keeps his lips pressed tightly together for fear of getting any of the toxic substance in his mouth. It’s a miracle he didn’t.

“Careful with your eyes. Don’t go shoveling it in there,” Bobby warns, sounding much warmer than he has all day. Castiel nods and carefully wipes over his eyes with small dry bits of the cloth until he feels it’s safe to open them. He cracks open his eyes carefully, half expecting them to start burning uncontrollably, but they don’t.

He wipes his mouth and facial hair a few more times and blows his nose, scrunching his face in disgust when black goop comes out. He has a feeling he’ll be sneezing black slime for days.

“How’s your head?” Bobby asks. “You didn’t give yourself a concussion did you?”

Castiel gingerly feels the back of his head and grimaces when his fingers fumble over a tender goose egg, but when he pulls his hand away there’s no blood, so that’s good at least. He wouldn’t know how to tell if he’s concussed or not, but he’s not seeing double so he just assumes he’s not.

“It’s okay,” he tells Bobby quietly. Bobby nods.

“Good. If you wanna get in another shower, I’ll finish up here.”

It’s tempting. Very tempting. Castiel shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “I can finish. I’ll shower when I’m done getting dirty. What do I do next?”

Bobby regards him for a long moment and then shrugs.

“Whatever kid,” he grumbles, but Castiel gets the feeling that he passed some kind of test as Bobby continues on, teaching him how to change the oil filter (that paper cylinder thing) and how to safely dispose of the dirty oil (but not before Castiel has to fish out the oil plug that he dropped in the pan of dirty oil). They don’t refill the car with new oil since it’s only being used for parts, but Bobby assures him that it’s so easy not even he could screw it up. Castiel reserves judgment.

Hours later, Castiel has become somewhat numb to the frigid winter air and so have his fingers. Though luckily, he gets to change the brake pads on a car inside the garage. Castiel is wrestling with a stubborn half rusted lug nut and fingers that he can’t feel while Bobby barks advice at him over his shoulder when a sudden loud laugh startles him. He springs up to his feet and drops the lug wrench, cringing at the obnoxiously loud clatter of metal on concrete that echoes through the garage.

“Dean, what’re you doin’ here?” Bobby demands gruffly, although he somehow manages to sound pleased all the same. Castiel whirls around and sure enough Dean is grinning at him from the doorway.

“Just came to check on Cas and good thing I did. What did you do, man? Take a bath in used oil?” Dean teases as he approaches.

Castiel’s face feels hot and he sincerely hopes the oil still stuck all over him and his untrimmed facial hair hide what he is sure is a blush.

“Essentially. I um, did my first oil change,” he admits quietly. Dean laughs again, loud and joyous, his head thrown back and his eyes lit with humor. Castiel can’t help the soft smile that spreads his lips. Dean has a good laugh.

“Did you tell him to drain it into his mouth, Bobby?” Dean asks, shooting a teasing grin Castiel’s way, the skin beside his eyes scrunching up adorably.

Bobby scoffs.

“Fool idjit didn’t get the pan lined up right. You wanna help him get this thing back together? He’s done for the day after this. I got actual work that needs to get done,” Bobby grouches.

“Sure thing,” Dean agrees easily. “We got this, right Cas?”

Castiel offers a perfunctory nod that lacks any sort of conviction. Bobby scoffs again and stalks off towards the back of the shop muttering under his breath something about _idjits_ the whole way.

Dean ignores him and sidles up beside Castiel to nudge him in the side with his elbow.

“Good job, dude,” he says quietly, his face coming closer to Castiel’s conspiratorially. “He likes you already. That’s gotta be a record. Sammy’ll never believe it.”

Castiel blinks twice at Dean. Once, at how close Dean’s face is, and again, at Dean’s proclamation that Bobby likes him. Castiel had it pegged as more of a grudging tolerance.

“He does?” Castiel asks. And then, “Who’s Sammy?”

“Sammy’s my brother, but you’d better call him Sam if you want him to like you. And course Bobby likes you! He called you an idjit,” Dean says like it’s a perfectly normal measurement of one’s affection. “That’s basically an ‘I love you’ coming from him.”

“That’s… discomforting,” Castiel says pursing his lips.

Dean laughs again, the same as before, only he slaps Castiel on the shoulder and moves away.

Castiel fumbles his way through the next ten minutes it takes for him and Dean to replace the lug nuts on the driver side tire and then reattach the passenger one. Every time he thinks he’s put his foot in his mouth Dean either laughs it off or grins and it’s a refreshing change for Castiel who is so painfully socially awkward and always has been.

“Alright, that’s it,” Dean says after Castiel finishes lowering the car back to the ground and carrying off the jack stand to a shelf on the back wall where Bobby originally retrieved it from.

“You should probably shower now. That oil is going to be a bitch to get off now that it’s dried on.”

Castiel silently agrees. Every time he forgets and touches his face his hand comes away brown and tacky. The cold air certainly doesn’t help.

“Oh and before I forget, I grabbed you some stuff,” Dean exclaims brightly. “C’mon. It’s in the Impala.”

Castiel frowns, but follows after him into the cold wind once more.

Dean reaches into the backseat of the Impala and then resurfaces holding two plastic sacks. One appears to be full to the bursting with clothes while the other is less full and Castiel can only guess at its contents. Castiel sees where this is going and immediately grows uncomfortable.

“Dean,” Castiel reprimands, taking a step back from Dean and his bags. “You didn’t have to— I don’t— I don’t want you to spend money on me.”

“I wanted to,” Dean insists, holding out the bags and stepping closer. “‘Sides. I didn’t spend any money on the clothes. I just grabbed some stuff out of my closet that I don’t wear anymore. C’mon, I only spent like twenty bucks.”

Castiel wants to cry. _Only twenty bucks_. What he would give to have twenty dollars and for that money to be considered _only_ twenty dollars. He swallows thickly, his throat dry and his nose stinging.

“Alright,” he says quietly and accepts the bags. He peeks into the second one and his throat closes up. A toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, some shower products, and his very own pack of those blue disposable razors. Dean clears his throat and Castiel forces his gaze away from the bag’s contents. Dean rubs the back of his neck and watches his own boots as he scuffs them in the gravel of the driveway.

“I uh— didn’t know what kind of stuff you liked so I just got the stuff I use so if you don’t like ‘em—,”

“Dean,” the word comes out more gruffly than Castiel would like. He clears his throat and tries again. “Dean, it’s perfect. Thank you. It’s… more than I… Thank you.”

Dean shrugs, glancing up at Castiel briefly before looking away again.

“It’s not a big deal,” he mumbles.

_Not to you_ , Castiel thinks to himself.

“So uh, shower?” Dean suggests, forcibly changing the subject. “No offense man, but you stink like the interior of a 1993 Honda Civic.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I’ll assume it’s unpleasant because I’m giving myself a headache,” Castiel responds, sniffing lightly at his shoulder only to grimace and turn away. Dean laughs and just like that the awkward mood is lifted.

“C’mon. You go de-stinkify yourself and I’ll start us up some lunch. I’m guessing Bobby worked you straight through meal time…” Dean’s sentence falls off into a laugh as Castiel’s stomach lets out a thunderous growl at the thought of food. Castiel covers his face with a hand, only to crinkle his nose and pull away his now oily palm.

“Don’t worry about it man,” Dean assures him once he’s gotten ahold of himself. “Bobby forgets that normal people can’t run on coffee indefinitely.”

Castiel hums longingly. “I would gladly run solely on coffee for the rest of eternity if I was given the chance.”

Dean laughs and turns his grin on Castiel.

“You are something else, man.”

Something warm unfurls in Castiel’s chest. He ignores it. He needs to focus on _him_ , getting himself to somewhere good in life. Somewhere not homeless at age 25. Someplace where he can take care of himself and not have to rely on a trust fund that he is no longer welcome to, or handouts from a stranger.

Dean and Castiel part ways as they reach the house when Dean stays in the kitchen and Castiel continues up to the bathroom with his bags of charity items.


	3. Chapter Three

**.**

**— Dean —**

**.**

The rush of water spilling through overhead pipes fills the silence of the kitchen as Dean slaps together some sandwiches. Dean sucks in a deep breath through his nose, letting it fill him up, as the smell of percolating coffee slowly wafts through the air. He’s always loved that pungent coffee scent; it’s the reason he went for the job at the CoffeeHouse in the first place. It’s way better than the smell of grease and potatoes that clings to his clothes, skin, and hair after a shift at McDonald’s.

Sandwiches complete, Dean tosses the bread and peanut butter back in the cupboard and the jelly into the fridge. He hesitates with the fridge hanging open as he stares at the case of beer sitting there on the shelf. Cas seemed pretty set on infusing coffee into his bloodstream, but that doesn’t mean that Dean can’t have a beer right? Right.

He grabs himself a bottle and then grabs one more just in case Cas is interested and then on a whim he grabs an unopened bag of baby carrots, just in case Cas is a health nut like Sam and demands there be a vegetable serving with every meal, even if that meal is just a PB&J. For himself (and hopefully Cas) he grabs a half empty bag of knock-off Doritos.

Overhead, the water shuts off. Dean pops the cap off his beer and leans back casually against the counter as he takes a sip. Cas should be down in a minute or two and then they’re going to eat lunch together and then… well, Dean hasn’t planned it out that far. All he knows is that it’s only one in the afternoon and Sam doesn’t get out of school until 2:35 and then he’s got his dorky after school overachiever’s club. He won’t be home until almost five so Dean’s got some time to kill and what better way to kill it than with this random guy that he doesn’t know? A random guy who was homeless yesterday, is really fuckin’ weird, but like in a good way, and who Dean kinda sorta likes? He seems like a decent dude at any rate.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice calls from the top of the stairs. He sounds concerned or maybe frustrated.

“What’s up?” Dean asks as he makes his way out of the kitchen to where the stairs end. “Need a towel?” he smirks.

“No, but I,” Cas sighs heavily, definitely frustrated then. “I require assistance.” He says it like he’s admitting to bestiality or something; like it’s gotta be pried from behind his teeth with a crowbar.

Dean comes around the corner and suddenly has a clear view of Cas standing at the top of the stairs gloriously clean shaven and wearing nothing but an old ratty brown towel around his waist as murky brownish water drips from his hair onto his shoulders to run down his chest until it disappears into the towel.

“Ah,” is all Dean says.

“It won’t come out,” Cas complains and Dean swears to God he’s pouting and it’s tragically a very good look on him now that Dean can actually see those full pink lips of his.

“I see that.”

Cas’s hair is stuck up every which way, black and slick looking from the oil that, of course, wouldn’t come out in the shower. Oil and water don’t mix. Duh. Dean should have known that.

“I don’t want to shave it off,” Cas continues sounding miserable.

“Well uh, good news there, buddy. I don’t think we could. That oil would just clog up a razor and ruin it, electric or no,” Dean explains.

Cas somehow looks even more concerned at this revelation.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Hold on, okay?” Dean tries to reassure him. “I’m gonna go ask Bobby. Bobby will know.”

Cas sighs unhappily.

“Alright.”

“And uh,” Dean pauses and licks his lips, his eyes flick down to Cas’s towel without his permission. “You might wanna put on some pants.”

Cas blinks and looks down at his waist, clinching the towel tighter and keeping hold of it with both hands while taking a step back.

“Right, yes, of course. I will… do that,” he mutters and then turns and escapes back to the bathroom.

Dean laughs a little under his breath and shakes his head. When he finds Bobby in the garage and explains the situation he gets yelled at for his trouble.

“‘Course you morons would try and wash it out with _water_. I shoulda known. Now listen up, here’s what you gotta do.”

Bobby explains what Dean will need and the process and then skulks off, grumbling under his breath. Dean turns his back before he rolls his eyes. Grumpy old fart. Of course, Bobby has always been a grouchy codger, but he always hams it up extra when Dean brings over house guests. Bobby would never turn any of them away without good reason, but he likes to make it well known that he only tolerates them out of the goodness of his cold neglected heart; or so he would have them believe.

When Dean makes it back into the house he grabs some stuff from the kitchen and jogs up the stairs. He finds Cas in the bathroom sitting on the closed toilet bent over and scrubbing at his head viciously with his towel, wearing only a pair of Dean’s old jeans.

“Hey buddy,” Dean greets and Cas drops the towel and sits up fast enough to give _Dean_ whiplash, his eyes wide and fists clenched. As soon as he sees Dean his hands relax and he gets a sort of embarrassed look on his face. Dean raises his eyebrows at the reaction, but decides not to comment.

“Bobby says we gotta douse you with this,” Dean holds up a large, dusty bottle of vegetable oil, “and scrub it in real good and then dump this on,” Dean sets a box of cornstarch on the sink counter, “and then comb it out. Bobby says it should chunk up, and then we get to wash your hair with dish soap.” Dean thunks the bottle of Joy down on the counter with the other supplies. Cas eyes it warily.

“Is this some sort of initiation ceremony designed to embarrass me?” Cas asks.

“What? No,” Dean laughs. “I wouldn’t do that to you, man. Just trust me, alright? If Bobby says it’ll work then it’ll work.”

Cas examines him for a long moment and suddenly Dean remembers Cas’s words the night before about how he trusted the wrong person and he immediately wishes he had rephrased that.

“Look, Cas—,” Dean starts, but Cas shakes his head.

“It’s fine, Dean,” he tells him. “I trust you.”

_Why_ , Dean wants to ask. Hell, after dad died Dean didn’t trust anybody, at times not even _Bobby_. He was always afraid someone was going to decide he wasn’t good enough, he wasn’t trying hard enough, or worse, that no matter how hard he tried it would never be enough, and they’d take Sam away from him. So Dean kept how hard it all was close to his chest. He didn’t even want Sam to know, just in case he said something to a friend at school and someone overheard and it got around. As far as Dean was concerned his problems were his problems and he could handle them himself and everyone else could go take a flying leap.

Dean can’t help but think that if Cas trusts him this easily then maybe that’s how he ended up putting his trust in the wrong person last time. Maybe that’s why he lost everything, because he trusts too easily, too freely. Hell, Dean’s not even sure he trusts _himself_ , but this guy that he met less than 24 hours ago is already stating aloud that he trusts Dean? It’s insane. Something must show on Dean’s face, because Cas sits up straighter and pins an electrified gaze on Dean with those sharp blue eyes and his hair wild and sticking almost straight up in some places.

“My trust is not misplaced, Dean,” Cas says with a quiet kind of force. “I know you’re a good man, whether you yourself believe it to be true or not.”

Dean drops his gaze and swallows thickly then clears his throat, “Right, so veggie oil first?” he says and holds up the bottle, giving it a jaunty little wiggle.

“Correct,” Cas replies, looking for all the world like he’s resigning himself to a sticky fate.

“‘Kay, here we go,” Dean warns as he moves to stand behind Cas and unscrews the cap. Cas stiffens as Dean begins pouring the oil onto his head in a drizzle. A small stream starts to leak down the back of Cas’s neck and without thinking Dean uses a finger to quickly swipe it back into Cas’s hair line. Cas’s jerks away at the touch and vegetable oil pours out of the bottle all down his back and onto the floor.

“Shit, sorry,” Dean apologizes. He grabs a towel to toss over the mess on the floor and another for Cas’s back, but he stops himself from automatically wiping the mess off of him like he would if it were Sam.

“No, I— It’s fine. I just—,” Cas huffs out a breath and mumbles, “I’m not used to people touching me.”

“Oh. Right, sorry,” Dean cringes. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. “I can just leave you to it if you want. I mean, I didn’t even ask if you wanted my help, kind of a dick move on my part. I could just—,”

“No,” Cas interrupts. “I would appreciate your assistance. I was just caught off guard.”

“You sure?” Dean can’t help but ask. “Cuz I could—,”

“It’s fine, Dean.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll just put the towel on you,” Dean says and then, careful to not let his skin come into contact with Cas’s, he places the second towel around Cas’s shoulders so that if any more oil drips down it’ll just run into the towel and Dean won’t have to worry about it. “D’you wanna, um start rubbing it in while I pour? Bobby said to make sure to get it in there real good.”

“I can,” Cas confirms and Dean nods even though Cas can’t see him.

“Alright, here we go.”

The second attempt goes much better than the first. They manage to get Cas even more oily than he was at the start, his hands are coated in it now. Cas wipes his hands off as well as he can on the towel around his shoulders while Dean starts shaking the box of cornstarch over his head. It takes a lot more cornstarch than Dean thought it would, but eventually the oil starts to form clumps like it’s supposed to. Dean can’t help it; he starts to snicker.

“No offense, Cas, but this is really gross,” Dean says, poking a finger at one of the clumps. It’s squashy. It looks like an unholy amount of dark brown, nasty ear wax with a thin coating of powdered sugar just sitting in clumps all over Cas’s head.

“I apologize,” Cas says quietly. “You don’t have to—,”

“Shut up,” Dean rolls his eyes. “You asked me to help so I’m helping, okay?”

“I can do it myself if you’d rather—,”

“Cas, for fuck’s sake. Is this one of those, ‘I want you to _want_ to do the dishes’, things?”

Cas is silent for a prolonged moment and then finally turns so he can see Dean with his face scrunched into a confused squint.

“No one _wants_ to do the dishes, Dean,” he says, deadpan and Dean bursts out laughing. Cas looks entirely bewildered at the reaction and that only serves to make Dean laugh harder.

“Haven’t you ever seen _The Break Up_?” Dean asks. Cas gets a weird look on his face and shrugs and looks away.

“We weren’t allowed to watch television growing up.”

Dean gaps at him.

“What? Why not?”

“My father is very religious,” Cas answers stiffly, like it’s a rehearsed answer. “He claims it is spiritually and morally toxic.”

“Are you serious?” Dean sputters before he can think better of it. “I mean, that sucks.” He cringes internally. What is wrong with him?

Cas smiles at him a bit.

“He often called it Satan’s most direct advertising medium,” Cas says, that little smile still there, but bitter and thin.

“That’s… sorry man, but that’s crazy,” Dean says. Growing up without TV? Satan’s advertising medium? What the hell?

Cas just nods. “It’s part of the reason I left.”

“You left?” Dean echoes like a moron.

Cas hums kind of distractedly, a distant look on his face and his eyebrows furrowed into a frown. Dean gets a queasy feeling in his gut. He’s not sure why Cas left home, but it had to be for seriously good reasons if being homeless during winter in the Midwest was preferable. And there’s the way Cas flinched when Dean touched him…

“Cas, your dad, did he— He didn’t...” Dean licks his lips and tries again. “Did he _do_ anything to you?”

Cas looks confused for a moment and then his face clears and he even smiles a bit like Dean said something sweet.

“He never touched us, Dean, if that’s what you’re asking. He had much more effective methods of manipulation.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Dean asks, not feeling reassured in the least. Whatever it is, it sounds ominous. Cas doesn’t answer, he just shakes his head and changes the subject. Dean lets it drop, but questions burn unasked on the tip of his tongue.

“You said we have to comb it out next, correct?” Cas asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says, frowning unseeing at nothing in particular. More effective methods of manipulation? What exactly would he be manipulating Cas to _do_? Join a cult? Become a nun?

“I require a comb then.”

“Oh uh, right,” Dean shakes his head a bit to clear it and digs around in the drawer below the sink until he comes up with a black comb. He hands Cas the comb and slides the trash can over until it’s within Cas’s reach and then leans back against the wall.

He’s angry, he realizes while he half watches Cas run the comb through his hair and have to clean goopy brownish mush from the teeth and scrape it into the trash after every drag. He’s _pissed_ , to be more accurate. Cas’s dad sounds like one of those religious nuts who ruins their kids’ lives by forcing impossible standards on them. Sure, his own dad was controlling and could be a real dick at times, but at least Dean was allowed to have a life. He could have things for himself sometimes.

And it doesn’t escape Dean’s notice the way Cas said his dad never touched ‘us’. It leaves a sour taste in the back of Dean’s throat to think that there are probably kids that got left behind when Cas made a break for it, not that Dean blames Cas for getting out when he could. Or maybe Cas is the youngest and was the only one left at home. Or maybe Cas is the oldest and any others are under 18 and there’s nothing Cas can legally do to get them out.

“Dean.”

Dean blinks and focuses back on Cas who is staring at him imploringly. His eyes are brighter, bluer, or maybe they just stand out more without all that beard. He looks really good, even with his hair all gross and greasy like it is now. Dean kind of wants to touch his face to see how smooth it is. Maybe run his thumb over Cas’s lips. They look chapped. He wishes he would have thought to grab some chapstick while he was at Walmart getting stuff for him earlier. Dean shakes off the thought. Now is not the time for this... whatever is going on with him.

“Uh, what?”

“I asked if you had any scissors. There are mats I can’t comb through,” Cas says, holding Dean’s gaze in a way that makes Dean feel like Cas is refusing to be embarrassed about the request.

“Uh probably,” Dean says, racking his brain for where Bobby would keep scissors, if he even owns any. “Be right back.”

Dean slips out of the bathroom, leaving Cas to attack his hair with the comb and an unhealthy amount of concentration. Dean shakes his head roughly the moment he’s alone and tries to wrangle his thoughts together. What the hell was that? Dean’s no stranger to fantasizing about touching attractive people, but usually the touching is a lot more _sexual_ , face touching doesn’t typically register. He shakes off the bizarre happenstance and tries to focus on his task.

He tries Bobby’s office down the hall first and gets lucky. There’s an ancient pair of metal scissors half buried under a haphazard stack of papers. They’re probably terrible for cutting hair, but Dean’s sure whatever damage they do will be fixable. Probably. Sammy has never let Dean live down the last time Dean cut his hair. He wore a beanie for months afterward and Dean’s beginning to suspect he’s got a pathological fear of haircuts now if the ever growing length of his hair is anything to go by.

Still, Sam can be a sensitive little asswipe. Cas will be just fine. Probably. It’s not like he’s rocking the most quality hair cut right now anyway. It looks like he cut it himself.

When Dean re-enters the bathroom Cas frowns at the old scissors Dean offers him. He glances up to Dean and Dean simply pulls a face in response. This really is the best he can do. Cas sighs and motions for Dean to get on with it.

The scissors are shit, but it doesn’t go as badly as it could have. At least they don’t have to give up and buzz it all off like Dean did for Sam, so Dean counts it a win. And Cas isn’t crying like Sam was so he must not think it’s that bad either. Sure, he’s not smiling or anything, but Cas doesn’t really come across as a smiley kind of guy. He doesn’t look pissed or upset so Dean assumes that he likes it, even if it does look a bit messy.

“I need to shower again,” Cas comments after ruffling his hand through his hand and crinkling his nose when it comes away greasy. “You said I have to wash my hair with the dish soap, correct?”

“Oh, uh yeah. You do that. I’ll just be downstairs,” Dean says and gestures pointlessly at the door before snatching up the cornstarch and vegetable oil to take with him and turning to head out, trying in vain to not imagine Cas wet and naked with Dean’s hands running across his—

“Dean,” Cas says again. Dean stops and turns to face him. “Don’t dwell too much on what I said before. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” Dean retorts automatically, but Cas just raises an eyebrow and waits quietly. Dean huffs and makes an effort to mentally change tracks. Right. Cas must be talking about what little he said about his dad... “I just think your dad seems like a major douche is all and I uh... yeah.”

“You’re not wrong,” Cas says and Dean grins a bit, but it fades pretty fast and he presses his lips together thoughtfully. Cas stays sitting and waits him out.

“You said ‘us’,” Dean eventually tosses out, nosiness be damned.

“I did. I have three older brothers, two of whom adopted my father’s teachings as their own beliefs and the third of which… well, he was caught participating in some illicit... activities and my father disowned him.”

“Harsh.”

“No. Not really,” Cas disagrees, lips pursed, but doesn’t elaborate. “And I also have a younger sister, Anna.” Cas softens when he says her name. “She just turned 17, but she’s smarter than me. She knows when not to speak her mind and she’ll… She should be okay.”

Dean holds Cas’s gaze for a long moment, debating whether or not to call his bluff, but at the last minute he swallows the words and nods instead. It’s not his business, he reminds himself, and sticking his nose in it isn’t going to fix anything.

“Right. Well, yell if you need anything.”

Once Dean is back in the kitchen he collapses into a chair and leaves the cornstarch and vegetable oil on the desk turned table. He’ll deal with those later. He tips his head back and sighs heavily toward the ceiling where the rush of water through pipes is heard once more. What a bizarre fucking family. Not that Dean has much room to judge. What’s left of his family ain’t exactly the Walters from next door.

But he can’t imagine ever leaving Sammy behind with a dick like Cas’s dad. Hell, Dean could have left him to deal with dad the second he turned 18, but he didn’t. Dean had every reason to want to get as far away from his dad as possible, but he stuck it out for Sam and he would have kept sticking it out as long as he had to so long as his little brother needed him. So Cas just ditching his sister to skirt around their dad all by herself doesn’t sit right with Dean.

Cas doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to leave his sister to the wolves though, especially his sister that he seems to like. Cas is… nice. Like a genuinely _nice_ person, so different from the people Dean normally meets. He’s nice like Sam, pure and good and unfettered with underlying motives. Or at least that’s the impression Dean gets from him. He’s much too soft and kind to make it on his own out on the streets anyway.

“Dean?”

Dean tears his eyes away from where he’s been staring, unseeing at the bottle of vegetable oil in front of him and swerves in his seat to face the doorway where Cas is standing looking concerned. Dean’s reflexive embarrassment at being caught lost in thought over the object of his thoughts evaporates fairly quickly as he takes in Cas. He swallows thickly. He seriously underestimated the effect that seeing Cas in Dean’s old clothes would have on him. Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat and drags his eyes away from the way Dean’s jeans ride low on Cas’s narrow hips and the way his stretched out t-shirt collar droops a bit and reveals his collarbone.

It’s fucking stupid, Dean decides. He just saw they guy in nothing but a towel and was fine, but seeing Cas wearing old clothes that just so happen to have come from Dean’s dresser is going to be the thing to make Dean pop a stiffy in Bobby’s kitchen? So fucking stupid. He shifts again and finally manages to drag his gaze up to Cas’s face.

“Are you alright? You’re flushed,” Cas says and takes a step towards him, bright blue eyes concerned and pink lips pulled into a concerned frown.

Dean flies up out of his chair, managing to smack his thigh into the underside of the table as he does so and snatches up the vegetable oil and cornstarch. If Cas touches his face to take his temperature Dean is going to _flip his shit_. This is too new, too much, too fast. Hell, he doesn’t even _know_ this guy. So he runs away. Luckily, the pain from crashing into the table chases away any thoughts his dick might have had about getting hard.

“No, yeah, I’m good,” Dean babbles, shoving the cooking supplies into a random cupboard and slamming it shut. “It’s just been a long day you know? Had to get up at four to get to the CoffeeHouse in time. Oh hey, I made us sandwiches earlier. They’re probably stale by now though so, sorry.”

Dean grabs the paper plates with the sandwiches and sets them on the table at opposing ends and then grabs the bag of chips and the baby carrots and tosses those into the middle where either of them can grab some.

“Oh and I made coffee,” Dean continues before Cas can get a word in edgewise. “And I got out a beer for you just in case you wanted it. It’s probably warm by now.” Dean frowns at the two bottles sitting on the counter still and takes a swig out of the open one and grimaces.

“Euck,” he complains. “Definitely warm.”

“It’s alright. I’m very much looking forward to the coffee anyway,” Cas says, still standing in the doorway like some kind of vampire, waiting to be invited in. Dean sticks the unopened beer back into the fridge, but places the other next to the nearest plate on the table.

“What are you waiting for? Sit down,” Dean orders. “How do you want your coffee?”

“Black is fine,” Cas says and finally enters the room and sits in the seat closest to where he came in. Dean reaches blindly onto the top shelf of the cupboard and pulls down a mug. He smirks a bit when he sees it’s his old Power Ranger one from when he was nine and they were at a garage sale back in Sioux Falls during one of their visits to Bobby’s old place. Dean had sworn that he’d do the dishes for a week if Bobby bought the mug for him. Bobby bought it, but Dean only lasted through two days of dish washing duty before throwing in the towel. Bobby let him keep the mug anyway, but Dean was his bitch for anything that needed fixing up around the place for the next month. He only pretended to mind.

Dean fills the mug with coffee and sets it in front of Cas before he realizes that Cas probably has no idea who the Power Rangers even are. His fear is confirmed when Cas frowns a bit at the picture of all of the rangers suited up and ready to fight and then ignores it in favor of burying his nose in the mug and drinking down probably half the mug in one go.

“Whoa dude. You’re going to scald yourself if you don’t slow down.”

“I have already evaluated the risk I am taking and have determined that the pros outweigh the cons,” Cas retorts without missing a beat. Dean grins and shakes his head, Cas is a weird dude. Rather than arguing, Dean turns to his food. He hasn’t eaten since his break this morning at ten. He’s starving.

“Whatever, you weirdo,” Dean tells him and picks up his sandwich. His smile turns down into a grimace. He was right. It’s stale, but he eats it anyway. Food is food and you don’t throw it out just because it’s not as perfect as it could be. Dean just hopes Cas doesn’t mind.

It turns out that he needn’t have worried. Cas takes a bite of his stale sandwich and closes his eyes in rapture as he chews. Dean stops with his own sandwich halfway to his mouth to watch. Cas swallows and Dean tracks the movement of his throat muscles.

“I like this very much,” Cas says and Dean’s eyes flick up to meet Cas’s smiling ones. “This is almost better than the Honey Nut Cheerios Bobby made for me this morning. I was unsure at first, but the sweetened breakfast cereal surpassed my expectations.”

“Hold on,” Dean sets down his sandwich to point an accusing finger at Cas. “Are you trying to tell me that you’ve never had _Cheerios_ before this morning?

“And I’ve never had this type of sandwich until this afternoon,” Cas confirms with a slight nod. He’s trying to seem nonchalant about it, but Dean can tell that he’s self-conscious about how sheltered he is. Dean’s trying to be sensitive about it, but—

“How on earth can you go through— How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five years of life and never have a PB&J? That’s just… That’s just un-American!”

Cas narrows his eyes a bit and cocks his head to the side.

“I’m not sure I understand how this sandwich has come to be a required staple of an entire country.”

Dean has to struggle not to laugh.

“PB&Js are to America as tea is to Britain,” he explains. “Well actually, we probably would claim hamburgers first, but still—,”

“Oh, I’ve had a hamburger before,” Cas interrupts, his face lighting up. “My cousin Gabriel snuck me one once. It was the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Dean forcibly shoves away the perverted thought of what else could go in Cas’s mouth and instead focuses on the tragedy of the other half of his sentence.

“You mean to tell me that you’ve only had a burger once in your whole life?” Dean demands, leaning over the table. “What if it wasn’t even a good one?”

“It was delicious,” Cas says, looking scandalized that Dean would ever suggest the burger he ate was anything but the best burger in the entire universe. Dean rolls his eyes.

“How would you even know? You’ve got nothing to compare it to!”

Cas opens his mouth, retort hot on his tongue, but then closes it again with a frown and a kicked puppy expression to rival Sam’s.

“Alright, alright. Listen, next time I come visit I’ll bring you a burger, a _good_ one, and then you can tell me whether it was better than the one this Gabriel guy brought you, okay?”

Instead of smiling and thanking him like Dean expected Cas to, Cas frowns some more, staring hard at Dean like he’s a puzzle he just can’t figure out.

“What?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Cas asks bluntly.

Dean sits back up in his chair and scratches the back of his neck.

“I dunno, cuz I like you? You seem like a good dude? Does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” Cas replies frankly and Dean pulls a face. “I like you as well. You’re also a... good dude.”

It sounds so awkward coming out of Cas’s mouth that Dean can’t help but to snort, breaking the uncomfortable air of the room. Cas gets that little smile again that he gets sometimes and Dean grins at him.

“Tell you what,” Dean starts, struck by a sudden idea that is in no way influenced by his inexplicable urge to be alone with Cas in a dark room, “I’ll bring some movies with me next time, too and we can eat burgers and get started on your pop culture education. How’s that sound?”

Cas is smiling again, larger than Dean has seen it yet, but it’s still not a full, unrestrained smile with teeth and gums and the like. Dean wonders what he’d have to do to get to see a smile like that. Or hear him laugh.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Awesome,” Dean says and then takes a bite of his almost forgotten sandwich. Cas follows suit and devours his in less than four bites and then moves on to the Not-Doritos and baby carrots. He takes a few of each alternately, not seeming to discriminate between healthy food and junk food. Dean kind of loves that, but sticks to just chips and beer himself. Once Dean gives him permission, Cas ends up drinking the entire half-pot of coffee that Dean brewed. Dean makes a mental note to buy Bobby an extra can of grounds. He’s gonna need it.

While they munch on chips and carrots Cas tell Dean about how he used to sneak books into the house growing up and read them in the middle of the night via flashlight. His dad let them read of course, but was apparently very strict about what they read. It all had to be approved through him first. So Cas’s cousin, the same one that got him a burger, became Cas’s book smuggler. He’d sneak Cas any book he could get his hands on and Cas ate them up. This gives Dean an idea.

“Did you know Bobby has his own library?” Dean asks, cutting across Cas waxing poetic about the Maximum Ride series. Dean knows of it. Sam was really into it for a while before he got caught up in Alex Rider. Or maybe Alex Rider came first… Dean doesn’t really remember.

“No,” Cas answers eyes wide and not seeming to mind the sudden change of topic.

“Yeah, c’mon. I’ll show you,” Dean says, getting to his feet and brushing bread crumbs from his shirt absently. “Bobby may not look the type, but he’s a huge book nerd. He’s got all sorts of shit in there. I found one, one time that I’m pretty sure was in Japanese. I don’t think Bobby even knows Japanese.”

Cas follows after him obediently as they make their way to the front room, off of which there is a room with a small french door. Dean doesn’t hesitate to open it right up and flip on the light, making sure Cas is right behind him.

The light illuminates the room, showcasing a medium sized room filled to the brim with books. There are bookcases lining every wall, but there’s still not enough shelf space. Books sit in stacks anywhere there’s space, creating crude kind of aisles to navigate through.

Cas’s jaw is hanging open and his eyes are wide as he carefully steps into the room like he’s stepping onto sacred ground

Dean’s struck by the thought that this moment is like some sort of Disney princess shit. Only there’s less marble flooring, gold accenting, fancy staircases, and tall windows and more dust, musty smell, and a stain in the carpet from when Sam and Dean were wrestling and Dean got smashed nose first to the floor. It was all Sam’s fault, never mind that Dean was 19 by then. But the look on Cas’s face sure fits the bill and so does the way his fingers twitch like he just wants to start running them over Bobby’s mangy old books in reverence.

“Do you think Mr. Singer would mind if I—,”

“No man, go for it. Just don’t be rough with ‘em and uh, don’t call him Mr. Singer. He hates that.”

“Oh. Of course,” Cas says and then he’s suddenly facing Dean and standing way too close and looking at him like he’s some kind of God given miracle.

“Uh,” Dean stammers.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, so earnest it’s painful. Dean is legitimately afraid that Cas is going to start crying, he looks so grateful. Dean didn’t even do anything. He was just giving him a little tour, basically.

“Alright Belle, keep your dress on. Don’t go breaking into song on me,” Dean complains. Cas frowns.

“Why would I—,”

“Never mind,” Dean interrupts, realizing his mistake and waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Movie thing.”

“Oh I see,” Cas says and then spends the next half hour looking through the immense store of books, showing covers to Dean and talking about books he’s read, books he wants to read, books he wishes he had never read, and so on and so forth.

And Dean lets him. He stands there in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and watches with a smile on his face as Cas’s _To-Read_ pile grows ever larger and every time Cas looks up at Dean it’s with a real, full smile on his face and it makes Dean feel… over-full, warm, tingly, lightheaded, so many different things just from watching someone dig around in a bunch of smelly old books.

Dean decides then to withhold judgment on the whole Cas leaving his sister behind thing. He’s still uneasy about it, but watching Cas go all goo-goo eyed over a heap of dirty books makes it hard to believe that a person like that would ever leave a loved one in that kind of situation unless they absolutely had to. It’s the ‘absolutely had to’ part that Dean really doesn’t like.


	4. Chapter Four

**_._ **

**_— Castiel —_ **

**_._ **

Dean keeps his promise and returns three days later with burgers and a handful of slim plastic cases that he explains are DVDs and that the VHS tapes Castiel was expecting are ‘way old news’. Now there’s _Blu-ray_ , whatever that is. Castiel doesn’t care, he’s just happy to see Dean and is content to let him prattle on about the differences between Blu-ray and HD while Castiel attempts to read the summaries on the backs of all the movies Dean brought with him and fetch ketchup for their fries at the same time.

“Dude, you don’t have to read all of those. Just pick one because we’re going to watch them all anyway,” Dean halts his synopsis to say and stuffs a handful of fries in his mouth sans ketchup. Castiel lifts his head to stare at Dean, brows furrowed.

“All of them? That will take all day,” he points out.

“Yeah, and?” Dean rebukes through his mouthful of fried potato, “You got anything better to do?”

Castiel doesn’t and Dean know this. Bobby gave him the day off and at the time Castiel assumed it was because Bobby was tired of Castiel breaking things in his shop, but maybe Dean had something to do with the unexpected mid-week break.

“No, but I assumed you would.”

“Sammy’s got school and then he’s gonna be away for the rest of the day for some nerd thing and I’ve got the rest of the day off so, nope.”

“I see,” Castiel remarks. He frowns down at the cases in his hands. Surely Dean would have something he would like to spend his rare day off doing rather than entertaining Castiel. Castiel says nothing though. He’s grateful for the company. While he adores Bobby’s book collection and is steadily reading his way through it, human interaction is something he has sorely missed and he has found that Dean’s company is some that he particularly enjoys.

“Sit down and eat your burger,” Dean demands, waving a french fry at Castiel’s empty seat. “We can worry about the movies after. The fries are getting cold.”

“Oh, of course,” Castiel says. It’s his understanding that fries are best served hot and that cold fries are the equivalent of spending an eternity with your nose in Satan’s armpit. Or at least, that’s what Gabriel told him. He sets the nearly forgotten ketchup in the center of the table and places the DVDs out of the way on the edge before taking his seat.

“Alright so I got you a bacon cheeseburger with the works,” Dean begins explaining as he reaches across the table to set a large styrofoam box in front of Castiel. It seems much more elaborate than the paper bag and wrapped sandwiches that Gabriel brought to him. “These are from the Roadhouse and they’re the best so prepare to have your mind blown.”

Dean mimes an explosion to the side of his head complete with sound effects and impresses a serious look upon Castiel, so he nods solemnly in return. It seems the location you purchase burgers from factors more into the quality of the sandwich than he had anticipated. He rarely sees Dean this serious about anything, not even their work in the shop that day they worked together.

Castiel opens his box and his mouth immediately begins to water. The smell alone is enough to make his stomach growl. He ignores Dean snicker across from him and delicately picks up his sandwich, careful not to grip it wrong and send the contents sliding out onto his lap.

The first bite is probably what heaven tastes like. The flavor of the meat and bread and condiments fills his mouth like some sort of onion-y nirvana. Castiel must make some sort of unsavory noise because Dean is suddenly no longer laughing at him and is instead very focused on his own burger with his head down. Castiel is self-conscious only until his second bite. It is somehow better than the first and his eyes roll back in utter bliss.

The rest of the burger is gone in scant minutes and Castiel misses it before he’s even finished sucking the juices from his fingers. Across from him, Dean laughs with his mouth still full of his own last bite. Castiel watches as Dean swallows without bothering to finish chewing as evidenced by his grimace as the mouthful goes down, but then Dean is grinning at Castiel.

“Man you look like your cat just got run over right in front of you,” Dean says. Castiel tilts his head in consideration and he squints at Dean.

“I don’t have a cat, Dean. Although, I would not be averse to one.”

Dean laughs again. “It’s just a thing you say. It’s not literal.”

“Oh I see. I imagine I would be very sad to see a pet of mine killed in front of me, yes.”

“That’s the spirit.” Dean rolls his eyes. Castiel is not really sure what he means by that so he says nothing, opting instead to turn back to the movie options.

“You’re not gonna eat your fries?” Dean asks. Castiel glances at them briefly and shakes his head. They do not appeal to him in the least.

“Oh c’mon,” Dean persists. “They’re miles better than old floor fries at McDonald’s.”

That one hurts. Castiel tries to ignore the feeling like he’s just been kicked in his stomach and stares more intently at the DVD case in his hand without taking in any of the printed words. It’s not as though he chose to eat fries off the floor or abandoned trays despite having other options. As it was, he could either eat the rejected droppings of those before him or eat nothing. He didn’t wish to starve and he had long ago tucked away any strand of dignity he had left and resolved himself to doing whatever became necessary to survive. And yes, this included eating cold fries off of the dirty restaurant floor.

“Hey Cas,” Dean’s fingers skim the back of Castiel’s wrist and Castiel jerks away without thought. He’s still unused being touched. The last time he was touched before meeting Dean was months ago when a woman punched Castiel in the kidney. Castiel doesn’t blame her. She thought he was stealing her purse when he was really just trying to return it. It was an easy mistake.

Dean immediately retracts his hand, but continues speaking like nothing happened. Castiel appreciates that about him. He doesn’t feel compelled to point out and question every one of Castiel’s many odd mannerisms.

“I didn’t mean it like that, man. I was just joking around,” Dean tells him.

“I understand. It’s fine,” Castiel murmurs while studying the grain of the desktop under his fingernails. They need to be clipped. He’s taken to chewing them off, but he’ll be glad to drop that habit. The amount of dirt and detritus that gathers under fingernails is something he’d never truly put much thought into in his old life.

“So you’re not upset?” Dean presses sounding doubtful. Castiel remains silent. He’s never been a very good liar.

Dean sighs and Castiel watches through his eyelashes as he roughly combs his fingers down his hair, starting in the back and ending in the front. The action works to straighten his hair rather than wreck it like when Castiel runs his hand from front to back.

“Look,” Dean begins and Castiel looks back down at the DVD case, “I’ve always had a roof over my head, so I can’t say I know what it’s like to not have that, but I know what it’s like to be hungry. I know the kind of low you sink to to ease that empty ache just a little and I know what it’s like to completely abandon your pride to do it.” Castiel looks up at this revelation, but Dean is talking to his hands in his lap now. “So I just… I should’ve known better than to poke fun at it like that, okay?”

Castiel studies Dean probably longer than appropriate, but he doesn’t care. This is the second time Dean has brought up that he has been through hard times similar to what Castiel has and Castiel is terribly curious to know the details. Some part of him feels that Dean owes it to him to explain, knowing as much as he does of Castiel’s experiences, but the rest of Castiel understands that that’s not how it works. This is life, not a business transaction. Still, it is gratifying to know that Dean knows something of Castiel’s experiences and that his jokes come from a point of understanding rather than mockery.

“I’d like to watch Batman first, I think,” Castiel says instead of any variation of ‘ _I forgive you_ ’. He thinks Dean will see it for what it truly is and appreciate the hand out of the awkward conversation. Dean lifts his head and frowns at Castiel so Castiel works his lips into a small smile for his benefit. Luckily, Dean smiles back and embraces the subject change with gusto.

“Knew I liked you for a reason, Cas. Batman is the best, you’ll see. We’ll start out with the 1989 _Batman_ and from there we’ll do _Batman Returns_ and then…”

Castiel tunes him out after that, happy to nod along and simply watch Dean’s animated hand gestures as the two of them throw away the trash from their lunch and make their way to the living room for what is apparently going to be a movie marathon. They settle into opposite ends of the couch and halfway through the first movie Castiel realizes he’s smiling for really no reason. There’s nothing especially humorous or pleasant about the Joker and his henchmen ruining works of art and attempting to kidnap someone.

It takes a moment for Castiel to realize that he’s smiling because he’s content. No, it’s more than that. He’s happy. He feels safe here, his belly is full, and he feels free in a way that he never has before while living with his father or homeless on the streets. And with Dean just feet away, beautiful and carefree, bouncing his leg with anticipation and mouthing along to the lines… Castiel feels happier than he ever remembers having been before. There’s no threat of his father’s reprimands hanging over his head and he’s free to be just Castiel for the first time in his life.

He settles back into the couch and the wasted fries are forgotten at the bottom of the trash can as Castiel continues to smile.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Castiel’s car repair ability does not improve over the following weeks. In addition to the goose egg he gave himself the first day, he picks up numerous cuts and bruises all down his arms and over his hands. One particularly unpleasant Tuesday he manages to completely ruin Dean’s old Pink Floyd t-shirt when he’s trying to change a fuel line and forgets to relieve the pressure and ends up getting hosed down with gasoline. He still feels terrible when he thinks about it.

He wasn’t too upset about it at first, considering the shirt was a bit snug, making it hard to move sometimes, but when Castiel striped the wet, clinging, and very smelly shirt off and tossed it directly into the trash Dean looked like he was going to cry and had to leave the garage to collect himself. He said he was just going to go grab a towel and a new shirt for Castiel, but it was fairly obvious that he was upset about something.

There was another incident where he managed to almost cleave off the tip off his left ring finger, but it turned out okay. The hardest part was convincing Bobby not to take him to the ER. In the end he downed a few shots of whiskey and let Bobby put a few stitches in to make sure it healed up correctly. Luckily, Dean wasn’t there that day or Castiel would have never been able to talk him out of a hospital visit that, for one thing, Castiel can’t afford it and for another, they’d want to know his full name and he doesn’t want his name cropping up anywhere his father might be able to track him to. Not that he thought his father would actually be looking for him, but that doesn’t change that he doesn’t wish to be found.

That was a week ago and Dean was livid when he found out what they did. He didn’t stop by until two days afterward, but Castiel was still struggling with it and the amateurish stitching was fairly obvious. Dean seemed most upset that Castiel didn’t call him to let him know, to which Castiel pointed out that he doesn’t have Dean’s phone number.

Now he does, written on a scrap of receipt paper that sits on the nightstand in the bedroom upstairs. Castiel hasn’t had a reason to call it yet, but when he does he doubts he’ll need to consult the paper. He memorized it that first day.

He won’t need to use it tonight at any rate considering that after he and Dean close up the garage they are planning to have another movie night (as Dean has taken to calling it despite it lasting the full day until Sam needed to be picked up from the school at seven). They haven’t been able to make time for another until now. Dean has been too busy and between three jobs and his brother Castiel can see why.

The only times he sees Dean is when Dean comes to work his shift in Bobby’s shop, but that’s okay because Bobby always sticks them together and has Castiel “help” Dean with whatever he’s supposed to be doing that day. It’s okay because Dean is a much better teacher than Bobby. He’s more patient and explains why things have to be done a certain way rather than just telling him to do it. On the down side, it’s much more embarrassing when Castiel makes a mistake.

Like today.

The call comes in from a man with a dead battery trying to get home from work. All he needs is someone to drive over and give his Buick a jump. Naturally, this task is delegated to Dean and by association, Castiel. It all goes fine until Dean asks Castiel to hook up the jumper cables while he has the customer fill out some paperwork.

Castiel hooks up the cables and Dean hops into cab of the tow truck to start it up. As soon as Dean starts the truck Castiel knows something was wrong. Sparks start flying off the Buick and the battery makes an awful crackling noise.

“Dean turn it off!” Castiel yells, but just then a loud _pop_ comes from the Buick. Dean shuts off the truck immediately and jumps out of the cab.

“What the hell happened?” he demands.

“I think I did something wrong,” Castiel admits, a pit of dread in his stomach. He doesn’t dare go near the car again, lest he ruin something else.

“What the fuck was that?” the owner of the Buick demands. Castiel swallows thickly.

“The cables were backwards,” Dean tells the man after a quick inspection with a pitying look in Castiel’s direction. Castiel closes his eyes and tries not to groan out loud.

“What does that mean?” he asks instead. “What did it do?”

“Well,” Dean says slowly, licking his lips before turning to speak to Castiel and the owner of the car simultaneously. “It could mean a few things. We’ll need to tow it back to the shop in order to tell what exactly, if anything, might have happened.” Dean turns exclusively to the car owner who looks like he’s going to explode any moment. “All of which will be completely complimentary considering this is our mistake.”

Castiel hangs his head, but staring at the dirt under his shoes doesn’t drown out the man’s snarling tone.

“I _need_ my car. I have work tomorrow! I better fucking get it back tonight! I don’t have time to miss work because someone who should have known what they were doing fucked up.”

Castiel winces and lifts his head to apologize, but Dean is already speaking, easily maintaining a polite professional disposition that he adopts for customers. It never fails to impress Castiel, who knows exactly how crass Dean is when allowed to speak freely.

“I understand. We will do whatever it takes to fix anything that needs fixing and get your car back in shape and to you as soon as we can.”

The man still doesn’t seem happy, but he’s not yelling anymore at least. Still, the ensuing twenty-minute car ride back to Bobby’s is the most awkward of Castiel’s life. It doesn’t take long for Dean and Castiel to use the winch to pull the Buick onto the flatbed and then all three of them cram into the two-passenger cab of the tow truck. Dean drives and that means that Castiel is awkwardly in the middle, smooshed as close to Dean as he can be without compromising his ability to drive.

Their thighs are pressed against each other, hot as they thaw after being out in the frigid February air. Every time Dean moves his right arm he brushes against Castiel’s left so Castiel tries to sit very still so as not to restrict Dean’s movements further. Dean’s cheeks are pink and Castiel feels terrible that he’s making Dean uncomfortable.

When they finally make it to Bobby’s the Buick owner wastes no time in jumping out of the cab and stalking off towards the garage, no doubt in search of Bobby. Castiel slides over to put some space between Dean and himself with mixed emotions, grateful that he can give Dean some space, but also disappointed to lose that warmth. It is a fairly cold night. Dean, surprisingly, doesn’t jump out of the truck the first chance he gets.

“Hey, Cas,” he says and then stops.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says into the silence. He feels terrible, and not just for the customer and Bobby’s business, but for himself as well. He knew it was only a matter of time until he messed up and got kicked out. He only wishes it could have lasted a little while longer, at least past the winter months. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I—,”

“Cas, what the hell are you talking about?” Dean interrupts, worry and irritation now warring for dominance on his face. Castiel pauses and contemplates Dean’s question seriously. He had thought it was something Dean was already thinking, but it’s possible he is wrong.

“Dean, I damaged a customer’s vehicle and granted, we don’t know how extensive it is yet but the fact remains that I’m costing Bobby’s business money when I am supposed to be helping it. I’ve done nothing but route yours and Bobby’s time and resources away from tasks you could be completing instead of helping me with simple tasks that I should be able to do on my own.”

“That’s bullshit, Cas,” Dean says with enough feeling that Castiel leans away subconsciously. “No one is getting kicked out of anywhere and how would you know what kind of difference you make around the shop? You don’t know how it was before, so you can’t know if it’s better or worse now. Everybody fucks up sometimes. That’s life.”

Castiel thinks out his words carefully before speaking and when he does his tone is careful and even.

“What I know is that you only get halfway through your list of things to do and spend roughly half the time you should be working on something explaining things to me and then I still do it wrong and you have to spend even more time backtracking to fix my mistakes. I don’t see how that could possibly be a benefit to the business.”

Dean glares at him and leans closer across the seat.

“Look, it doesn’t matter if you’re good for the shop or not. I’m teaching you how to do this stuff and maybe you’ll get the hang of it and maybe you won’t, but I’m gonna keep trying because if any of it sticks then it’s at least one more valuable skill to take with you when you decide to move on. So either you figure out something else to do around here or you stick with me and the cars.”

Dean doesn’t wait for a reply and kicks open the driver door, jumps out, and slams it behind him. Castiel sighs and slumps down in his seat to wallow for a minute. He doesn’t like being bad at things. He doesn’t like _failing_ , but that seems to be all he’s capable of doing since he left his father’s house. He’s not going to go back, but it would be nice if he could find someplace in this huge unfamiliar world where he fits. He only gives himself a few more seconds to feel sorry for himself and then forces himself to leave the solitude offered by the cab of the truck.

As it turns out, Castiel managed to fry the alternator when he mixed up the cables. As he understands it, alternators are not cheap. The Buick owner is furious, but between Bobby and Dean they manage to get him sent off in a cab with instructions to be back in two days for his car and they won’t charge him a dime.

“What an asshole,” Dean grumbles after the taxi is finally out of sight and Bobby grunts in agreement, but Castiel can’t help but think that the man has every right to rage at him. All he wanted was a jumpstart and instead Castiel destroyed an essential component to his vehicle and stranded him without convenient transportation for two whole days.

“Knock it off, Cas. I know what you’re thinking,” Dean barks as they head over to the Buick to see what they can get started on tonight. The sun is sinking fast, but they have all of the shop lights in the garage so in theory they can work for as long as they need to.

“No,” Castiel responds mulishly.

“What?” Dean asks, stopping abruptly to turn and face Castiel.

“I said no. I won’t knock it off. I deserve to feel like this right now.”

“You made a mistake! Don’t crucify yourself over it. Fucking up is part of being human. Wallowing in it doesn’t help anybody,” Dean argues. Castiel doesn’t understand why he is being so persistent about this. Castiel made a mistake and now he should repent for it. It’s the natural response and yet Dean seems to think it’s wrong.

“I am not going to crucify myself. I am atoning for my sins.”

“Atoning— Are you serious? Is that more bullshit your dad taught you? Cuz, oh yeah, he’s a great role model,” Dean retorts scathingly, missing Castiel’s flinch. “Isn’t forgiveness supposed to be a big part of believing in God or whatever? Why don’t you skip the whole beating yourself up for being human thing and just get on with the forgiving yourself part.”

Castiel opens his mouth and closes it again, frowning deeply as he studies Dean. Dean is breathing heavily, his face flushed and fists clenched at his sides. Castiel can’t for the life of him figure out why Dean cares so much.

“He’s got a point, boy,” Bobby pipes up, walking up to them from where he was checking over the Buick. “In this family we make our mistakes and then we clean up the mess instead of lying around and cryin’ over it.” He holds up a wrench and Castiel sticks out his hand reflexively. Bobby slaps the wrench into Castiel’s palm and adjusts his cap. “Get cleanin’. I got an alternator to order.”

Castiel says nothing as Bobby walks off without another word, leaving him alone with Dean, a broken car, and a wrench.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel says, his voice finally betraying his frustration and he grips the wrench tightly in his fist.

“What is it that you don’t get, Cas?” Dean asks, voice hard, but his posture reads that he’s tired.

“Why do you care so much? Why does Bobby care? Why are you both making so many sacrifices just to try and, and _fix me_?” Castiel waves the wrench wildly.

“Because we _like_ _you_ , stupid,” Dean spits. “Because you’re a good person and you deserve for someone to give a shit. And you know what? You’re not broken, Cas. Maybe a little messed up, but hell, who isn’t?”

Castiel scowls at Dean, but offers no reply. He doesn’t know what he would say. Dean has a point, as does Bobby, but Castiel can’t just undo years of conditioning in a single moment simply because the other option seems more pleasant. He’s not even sure if he would. There’s a certain peace that comes in taking responsibility for your actions and punishing yourself accordingly, but Dean is right. Wallowing in the guilt that comes after failure doesn’t help anyone and Bobby’s approach of cleaning up the mess would certainly have more of a physical resolution.

Castiel sighs.

“What do I do with this?” he asks, holding up the wrench.

It takes less than an hour for Castiel to remove the alternator under Dean’s instruction and then they’re free to do as they please for the evening as the replacement won’t arrive until sometime tomorrow. They had planned to watch a few movies in Bobby’s front room and Castiel has been looking forward to this small allotment of time for over a week, but now it’s been stained before it’s even begun. Dean hangs up his coveralls and then they both stand awkwardly, not sure if they are still spending time together or not.

“If you’d like to go home, I understand,” Castiel says down to his shoes. “You are not obligated to stay if you do not wish to.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Dean asks, voice a low rumble. Castiel doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” he says, looking up to meet Dean’s eyes. Dean searches his face and seems satisfied with whatever he finds there.

“Okay. Then I stay,” Dean replies with an easy shrug.

“Okay,” Castiel parrots. “I’d like a shower though if you don’t—,”

“Course I don’t mind,” Dean cuts him off, in a tone of forced levity that Castiel nonetheless appreciates. “How about I order pizza while you’re doing that, yeah?”

“Can it be cheese?” Castiel asks hopefully, wary of pushing his boundaries so soon after a disagreement.

“Cheese? Yeah there’ll be cheese on it, but what else do you want?”

Castiel squints at him, unsure if he should explain that he wants plain cheese pizza or just agree to additional toppings to appease Dean. Before he can come to a decision Dean breaks into a smile and shoves good naturedly at Castiel’s shoulder.

“Dude I was joking. Yeah I’ll get you your boring cheese pizza. You want cheese stuffed crust, too?”

Castiel’s eyes go wide.

“They can put cheese in the crust too?”

Dean laughs, one of those where he throws his head back and puts a hand on his belly as though to try to rein it in.

“Yeah, Cas. They can put cheese in the crust, too,” Dean says with a big, unrestrained smile. The skin beside his eyes is all crinkled up and Castiel’s chest grows warm and fond. The moment stretches long past what Anna would call ‘acceptable social convention’ and well into awkward territory.

“Umm, I smell,” Castiel mumbles, stepping back a step and then another. “I’ll shower now.”

“Right, yeah,” Dean agrees, blinking a few times like there’s a bright light shining in his eyes. “You do that. I’ll... pizza.”

“Yes. With cheese in the crust,” Castiel adds as though Dean might forget. It gets Dean to smile and the air becomes less thick.

“Cheese pizza with cheese stuffed crust for the cheese-aholic, got it,” Dean confirms.

“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying cheese,” Castiel grumbles.

“Tell that to your colon.”

“You do not need to worry about me becoming constipated, Dean. I have regular and healthy bowel movements,” Castiel informs him.

“What in the hell are you two talking about your shitting habits for?” Bobby demands, suddenly popping around the corner from the direction of his office. Castiel’s first response is to tense and clench his hands into fists. Living alone on the streets made Castiel an easy target for others to single out and overpower for his meager possessions and he was attacked quite a lot back in the beginning before he established a reputation for himself. Still, old habits die hard and for him the fight or flight instinct will always swerve first towards fight.

But Dean begins to laugh, loud, bellowing, belly aching laughs, harder than Castiel has seen him laugh to date and it’s contagious. Castiel’s fists relax and he starts to chuckle and then as Dean hunches over, barely able to continue breathing let alone standing, Castiel’s chuckle evolves into a soft laugh and from there into full blown laughter. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this.

“Idjits,” Bobby denounces them and stalks out of the garage towards the house. Somehow it just makes it even funnier. Suddenly, Castiel is folded over with Dean, clutching his ribs, and gasping for air and they’re leaning against each other for support as they try to stay on their feet. Castiel isn’t sure who reached for whom first and he doesn’t care.

Dean smells nice. Like cars and grease of course, but also like the same Degree deodorant that Castiel has been wearing since Dean purchased it for him and like sweat, but a good sweat smell. Castiel isn’t sure how that’s possible, but it is. He likes the smell. It’s that kind of information that Anna has always urged him to keep to himself.

It takes a long minute for Castiel to realize that he’s the only one laughing, but once he does it doesn’t take long to finally conquer his giggles. With a sigh he straightens up, lifting his face from its comfortable place on Dean’s shoulder and untangling his left hand from where it apparently fisted into the front of Dean’s shirt without Castiel noticing. He wipes tears from his face.

Dean doesn’t drop his hand from Castiel’s hip until Castiel takes a step away and Castiel immediately misses the feel of it there. It’s a dangerous thought, but not a new one. He always misses Dean when he’s gone. It’s something that he’s had to get used to the past couple weeks. He’s not used to missing people, except perhaps Anna. To cope he spends all of his free hours going through Bobby’s book collection much to Bobby’s annoyance, but Castiel has learned to ignore the older man’s complaining for the most part. He seems to enjoy the noise.

Castiel finishes wiping his face and looks up at Dean, a large smile still pulling his lips and Castiel thinks it’s one of those big ugly ones that show all of his gums and teeth, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

“I should go shower,” Castiel breaks the silence hanging around them softly.

Dean takes a deep breath and then lets it back out slowly and clears his throat.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees reluctantly, and then flashes Castiel a small smile. “You should laugh more often. It’s… it’s a good look on you.”

Castiel feels his face warm and turns it to the ground.

“Thank you. You um... yours is as well.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks sounding much too pleased in that cocky way he has sometimes. Castiel is beginning to think he plays it up sometimes, rather than truly thinking so much of himself. Instead of asking if his feeling has any merit, Castiel lifts his head to fix Dean with a playful glare.

“Don’t let it go to your head. It’s not _that_ good,” he says and it has the desired effect when Dean throws back his head and laughs and Castiel smiles in response. He wonders how his life would have turned out if he hadn’t gone into the playplace that night, or if it hadn’t been Dean working. What would his life be like right in this moment if he hadn’t met Dean Winchester?


	5. Chapter Five

**.**

**— Dean —**

**.**

“C’mon bitch! Your eggs are gonna get cold if you don’t get up sometime this century!” Dean says as he scrapes a heaping pile of scrambled eggs onto a plate and then dumps the rest onto a second plate, “Assuming I don’t eat them for you,” Dean adds under his breath. It’s not the most filling breakfast ever, eggs and toast. Dean would prefer some meat to line the empty space he woke up with in his gut, but Sam’s got a class trip coming up so they’re down to buying only the basics food-wise.

A trip to D.C. ain’t exactly cheap, but Sam’s adamant that it’ll be _just the thing_ to really shoot him to the top of the college applications next year. He said the same thing about auditioning for the school play, running for class president, volunteering with Combat Hunger, and reading to the elementary kids on the first Wednesday each month during his free period. Dean doesn’t really mind. He knows Sam doesn’t really need to do any of this extra stuff to get into a good college, but if it makes Sam feel better about his chances then Dean will only complain halfheartedly.

“It’s 8am.”

Sam comes around the corner of the kitchen doorway with a scowl scrunched on his face and his hair wild atop his head. The smirk creeping across Dean’s face at the sight dies a swift death when Sam simply smooths his hair once and every hair falls into place. Dean spent 15 minutes in front of the mirror this morning combing and gelling to get his hair just right, but Sam just swipes his hands through his and it just falls flawlessly into place.

“Yeah, you’re welcome for letting you sleep in. I was up at six,” Dean says. Sam drops gracelessly into a chair and Dean nudges a plate of eggs in front of him.

“You’re always up at six. The Art Center doesn’t even open until ten,” Sam complains.

Dean rolls his eyes and slaps a fork next to Sam’s plate. He considers asking how Sam could even sleep past seven anyway. After a lifetime of militaristic expectations that includes rising at the crack of dawn, sleeping past six _is_ sleeping in in Dean’s book. He bites his tongue though. Bringing up dad is a sure fire way to ruin the day before it’s even really begun. Besides, it’s not really a mystery anyway. Sam’s always gone out of his way to do exactly the opposite of what dad wanted.

“Eat up, princess.”

Sam’s only response is a glare. He wordlessly starts piling his eggs on top of his toast to make a sandwich so Dean figures they’re done with the topic anyway.

“I want to go for a jog before we go,” Sam says after swallowing a large bite.

Dean shoots him a pointed look and says through a mouthful of toast, “Well it’s a good thing I woke you up then isn’t it.”

He gets a stinging bitchface for that, but it’s so worth it.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

“Sam I’m booorrrreeeddd,” Dean complains for the umpteenth time.

“There’s only one more exhibit, Dean, and then we can go get lunch,” Sam responds without looking up from the small card just to the right of a small statue of a convoluted horse thing melting into a lumpy mass of metal. At least, that’s all Dean sees.

“This is taking forever,” Dean groans. “You know you don’t have to read the description on every one right? I thought art was supposed to be about, like, making it your own or whatever.”

“I think it’s interesting,” is all Sam says.

Dean sighs loudly and plops onto a wooden bench with one of those little name plates screwed onto it to commemorate whoever donated the thing. This one reads:

 

_In loving memory of Sarah Blake._

_May her passion for art live on in the joyful wonder of others._

 

Talk about a bummer. Dean’s sitting on a dead person bench. He wishes people wouldn’t do that. Why don’t they just put the plaque on a tree or something? Why do they have to ruin a perfectly good bench with their depressing little memoriam or whatever.

“Why don’t you go take more pictures of things to show Cas?”

It’s an offhand comment, said without looking away from where he is now frowning at a clay flower growing out of a very alarmed man’s head, but Dean feels the sting of electricity just under his skin and swivels to face Sam.

He’d thought he’d been discreet enough that Sam hadn’t noticed. It was only a few pictures anyway and so sue him. The poor guy is stuck at Bobby’s every damn day, so what if Dean thought he might like some of the stuff here? He’d probably appreciate it a damn sight more than Dean does. So yeah, Dean took a few pictures of stuff Cas might like: a watercolor of a flower-filled meadow, an ink sketch of a smiling woman with windblown hair, an abstract painting of what was either an aerial view of a bowl of Fruit Loops or the blood cells of someone born in the 70’s… You know, stuff he’d like. Probably. But that doesn’t explain how Sam knows the pictures are for Cas.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Sam says, finally turning away from the freaky sculpture with a smug expression that Dean wouldn’t mind putting a dent in with his fist. “Who else would they be for? He’s all you’ve been talking about for weeks and he’s the only one you hang out with outside of work. Even your occasional Monday nights with Charlie and Jo have been sidelined so you can go see Cas.”

Well… He’s not wrong. Dean has been going over to Bobby’s a lot more than he generally would. And he did turn down Charlie and Jo last week, but him and Cas already had plans! And besides, the guy hadn’t seen friggin’ _Lord of the Rings_ so what else was Dean supposed to do?

Sam must see something in the expression on Dean’s face because he sighs and says, “You don’t have to get defensive, Dean. I don’t care. I just… You don’t have to hide stuff from me, alright?”

Sam’s got his kicked puppy face going, but he’s oddly focused, like he’s waiting for Dean to admit to something, but Dean can’t for the life of him figure out what that could be.

“I’m an open book, Sammy. Nothin’ to hide here. Just thought Cas would like to see some of this stuff is all.”

Sam doesn’t respond for a moment. He studies Dean and then seems to accept him at his word as he gives a short nod.

“Alright. When do I get to meet him?”

“What? Who?” Dean asks and his heart skips a beat.

“ _Cas_ ,” Sam says harshly.

“Why?”

Sam fixes another bitchface on Dean. “Because I want to. You seem to really like him, so I want to see what all the fuss is about. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you don’t exactly have a lot of friends, Dean.”

A bad feeling starts to form in Dean’s gut. He can’t exactly tell Sam no, he can’t meet Cas, but what if they don’t get along? What if Dean has to choose, Sam or Cas? Obviously, he’d pick Sam, but it would still suck and… he really likes Cas. He likes working with him and watching movies and talking or not talking. Just being around Cas makes Dean feel… good. And that’s a feeling that’s hard for Dean to come by. That’ll be a tough feeling to give up.

“Alright.”

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Dean still hasn’t told Cas that Sam wants to meet him. He’s had the opportunity. In fact, just days after Sam and Dean’s trip to the museum Dean was working in the shop and Cas was helping. “Helping”. Dean would never say so, but Cas is absolutely useless in a garage, but damn if he doesn’t try and because of that Dean just can’t give up on him.

Anyway. Dean showed Cas the pictures he took at the art museum and Cas loved them just like Dean knew he would, the weirdo. His favorite was an acrylic painting of a man flying a kite in a wide grassy park ringed with giant leafy trees. Cas didn’t come out and say it was his favorite, but Dean noticed the way he kept scrolling back to it and frowning at it. Good frowning. Dean’s learned that Cas has lots of different frowns and they don’t always mean bad things. He’s weird like that.

Dean likes the painting too. He likes the bright colors the artist used: the swirling shades of green that makes up the grass and the trees, the pastel pinpricks of the flowers, the bright splotches of red, orange, purple, and yellow that make the kite, and, Dean’s favorite, the solid luminescent blue of the cloudless sky. So yeah, it’s a decent painting to look at, but if Dean had to guess, it’s more than that to Cas. It brings something up in him; a feeling, a memory, something.

Dean was so distracted by Cas’s attachment to the painting he completely forgot to bring up Sam’s request. Well, okay, he didn’t forget exactly. It’s hard to forget something that you can’t stop worrying about for more than two seconds, but it did provide a nice enough distraction until the subject was changed and the opportunity lost.

That was almost two weeks ago. Since then they’ve worked together several times, stayed in and watched movies twice, ordered Chinese on a whim once, and completely failed at making chocolate chip cookies another time (how was Dean supposed to know there’s a difference between baking soda and baking powder? And the whole butter fiasco was entirely Cas’s fault).

In Dean’s defense he almost told Cas once. Right after they finished cleaning Bobby’s kitchen, Dean was ready. He was going to bring it up, a casual, ‘So Sam said he wants to meet you. That cool?’ but then Cas crunched into a cookie and his nose scrunched up and he looked at the thing like it’d assassinated his entire family and forced him to watch and said in his deep too serious voice, “Now I understand why it is customary to pair homemade cookies with a glass of milk.”

Dean lost his nerve. Every ounce of courage he’d built up before that moment vaporized in the wake of that naive comment and all of the old insecurities came rushing back. Dean loves all of Cas’s little oddities, but what if Sam thinks he’s weird? Bad weird. Dean did find him living on the street and if you listen to the stereotypes that’s not exactly a point in his “Good Weird” box.

What if they just don’t like each other? What if they _hate_ each other? Sure, they’re a lot alike in some ways, but what if they’re just like dad and Sam were? What if they’re the same in all the wrong ways and it makes them butt heads over anything and everything? What if the parts of themselves they see reflected in the other are parts they don’t like?

What if the differences they do have are enough to keep them apart?

So instead of voicing his little question, Dean retreated to the kitchen for a glass of milk. It didn’t make the cookies any better.

Dean has avoided it as long as he can, to the point where he has a free night after working at McDonald’s until six and he’s at a loss of where to go. Normally he’d go see what Cas is up to, maybe fit in a movie. They’ve just gotten through the Captain America movies and Cas seems to like them the best of any they’ve watched so far, but Dean wants to shake things up and bring in a _classic_.

It’s just, Dean can’t enjoy himself with him anymore, not with this obligation to his brother hanging over his head. And Dean can’t go home because Sam is there, Sam with his questions and puppy dog eyes and scoffing remarks that have turned into suspicious stares every time he asks and Dean answers that he once again forgot to ask Cas about meeting Sam.

And yet there’s nowhere else for Dean to go. He hasn’t so much as texted Jo or Charlie in months and he’s not ready to deal with the fallout of a surprise visit to either of them after so long off the grid. After they rip him a new one, Jo won’t have a problem getting out of him what he’s been so wrapped up in that he hasn’t made it to a single game night with them since his birthday back in January and Charlie will twist it around into something it’s not. It’s March now. There’s really no excuse.

So he’s home, sitting in the complex’s parking lot in the Impala, with Pink Floyd thrumming through the speakers softly so as not to antagonize any of the neighbors. The very last thing Dean needs is some irate old lady keying Baby in the middle of the night because Dean interrupted her evening program. He hasn’t been here long and he wants to stay longer, but his stomach growls again reminding him that it’s no longer an option.

With a sigh Dean removes the key from the ignition. In the absence of the wailing guitars, steady bass of the drums, and the familiar rumble of Baby’s engine the soothing quiet of the night wraps itself around Dean. He allows himself to tip his head back and close his eyes and just breathe it in for a few minutes.

It always takes him back to growing up. They’d drive for days, weeks sometimes, and when they’d finally stop dad would lock them in the car and say “Dean, keep an eye on your brother,” and then he’d disappear into the office of whatever seedy motel he’d decided they’d be staying at for who knows how long. It was always in these scant few minutes that Dean felt he could finally relax.

They were relatively safe; Sam was often sleeping curled up in the backseat, his breathing steady and even and the only sound other than the gentle noises of nighttime. Stopping meant they could eat soon, they’d have a warm bed to sleep in, and time to stretch their legs and do kid things like go to the arcade or the park while dad found a new bar to carve out a place for himself where they didn’t know about his past debts or his violent tendencies when he drank too much.

In those few minutes while dad checked them in for the night Dean could finally stop wondering how much longer, how much farther, and know where he’d be waking up come morning. It was safe. It was routine. Dean always knew exactly where to start when they started over. Beginnings are easy. Middles are hard. Endings are inevitable.

Or so is his experience. The point he’s reached with Cas definitely feels like a middle and Dean is dreading the ending.

Dean hefts a heavy sigh and steps out of the Impala, his McDonald’s uniform tucked under his arm to join the rest of his uniforms in the laundry hamper. He made the mistake of leaving his work clothes in Baby overnight exactly once and swore never again. He’s still convinced sometimes that the old french fry smell lingers in the upholstery when the wind filters in through the open windows just right.

He jingles his keys in his pockets as he makes his way up the three flights of stairs to their floor. There’s an elevator, but Dean made Sam swear he’d never use it again after Dean rode it one day and about plummeted to his death. It wasn’t a hard sell. Sam was already wary of the rattily old thing and it’s not too bad of an inconvenience. They’re both pretty fit, it just makes bringing up groceries more cumbersome than it has any right to be.

Dean shoves open the door to exit the stairwell and looks through the small square of glass too late. Luckily, the guy on the other side catches the door before it biffs him in the face.

“Shit man, sorry,” Dean is already saying as he hurries through to make sure the guy is okay. He pulls up short when he sees who it is. It’s the big hulking guy that lives somewhere on their floor that Dean long ago kind of inadvertently decided to steer clear of. It’s not that Dean knows anything about the guy that is like, bad or anything, it’s more just the overall presence the guy has.

Dean has never once seen him smile. He just scowls around at anything that moves and several things that don’t (Dean saw him glaring the shit out of a potted plant once and the next day the plant was gone). And did Dean mention he’s huge? Dean’s a pretty tall guy himself and he’s got a decent amount of muscle, but this guy is a brick fucking house. He could probably knock Dean out with his pinky finger.

Okay, maybe not _Dean_ , but Sam for sure.

The guy glares at Dean and thunders into the stairwell without a single word. Dean listens to the heavy clodding footfalls fade into the distance for a few moments before letting the door fall shut with the distinct feeling that he just got himself added to some kind of list. And not a _good_ list.

Their apartment is about two thirds of the way down the hall. Dean unlocks the door and lets himself in. Some habits never fade, like locking the motel room door even when all three of them were in. Their apartment isn’t really in much better standing than any of those old motels, so Dean hasn’t bothered trying to break the habit and neither has Sam. The deadbolt slides into place with a soft _snick_ as Dean locks the door behind him.

Sam?”

“Hey Dean,” Sam calls from the living room couch, half buried in textbooks and notebooks. “Did you bring dinner?”

Dean frowns. He swears there was at least some bread, peanut butter, and a half gallon of milk last he checked.

“No. What’s wrong with peanut butter sandwiches?” _Besides that we’ve had them for the past three nights_ , he adds to himself. Thank fuck Sam gets school lunches or he’d have been bitching about changing it up a long time ago. Fact is, Sam’s school trip is coming up and they’re at bare bones. That Chinese him and Cas got only flew because they went halfsies on it (Bobby has been letting Cas keep the money they get when they drop off the recyclable items to the scrap yard) and Dean happened to have a coupon to buy one entree and get one free.

“I had the last of the bread this morning.”

Dean makes a face. “Bread for breakfast?’

Sam finally looks up from his textbook with a highlighter in his hand and an unimpressed look on his face. “Toast, Dean.”

Oh. Right.

Dean drops his clothes in a heap next to his boots and redirects to the kitchen. There’s gotta be something in there worth eating besides peanut butter and milk. It’s a small miracle that they even still have milk. Sam goes through that stuff like it’s air. Dean thinks it’s because he’s trying to outgrow him. Fat chance _that’ll_ ever happen.

“I think there’s some Frosted Flakes in the back of the cupboard,” Sam’s voice carries just loud enough for Dean to hear. Dean’s not sure whether to be proud or sad that Sam’s mastered volume control after a lifetime of sharing walls with strangers.

Dean redirects from the frozen wasteland that is the freezer to the cupboard to the right of the stove and sure enough, behind several cans of chicken broth and evaporated milk that Dean thinks may have been there when they moved in, there’s a beat up box of frosted flakes that haven’t even been opened yet by some miracle.

“Breakfast for dinner!” Dean calls out, giving the box a hearty shake that is almost immediately followed by an irate knock against the other side of the far wall of the kitchen. Dean shoots the wall a glare and Sam tells him, “Smooth,” from the living room.

Yeah so maybe Dean hasn’t quite mastered volume control as well as Sam. It’ll happen. Someday. Until then his neighbors can go jump in a lake. Except Mrs. Johnson across the hall. She’s alright for an old lady.

Dean goes about the rest of his evening routine quietly so as not to disturb Sam’s studying rather than to cater to cranky neighbors and their impossible expectations. Dean’s going to be so damn proud of Sammy when he gets a full ride to KU. Sam worries that he won’t be good enough, but Dean knows that anybody would be damn lucky to get Sam in their university and there’s no way Kansas University wouldn’t do everything they can to entice him there. Maybe those fancy Ivy League joints would expect all the extra stuff Sam thinks he needs, but good old Kansas isn’t stuck up like that. They’ll take Sam just as he is, 100 hours of volunteer work or no.

Sam’s taking a break with a bowl of Frosted Flakes and an episode of Game of Thrones when he brings up the subject Dean has been steadfastly avoiding since he walked in the door.

“You talked to Cas yet?”

He says it all nonchalant, eyes glued to the screen and a spoonful of sugary mush jammed in his mouth right after. Dean shovels his own overfull spoon to stall.

“No, I uh, forgot again,” he says eventually, pretending to watch the Old Spice guy yell at him about deodorant scents.

“Oh that’s fine.” Sam lifts his bowl to drink the leftover milk. Dean drops all pretense of being preoccupied and stares at him until he lowers the bowl and wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “What?”

Dean jolts back into action at the simple question. “Fine?” he echoes eyeing Sam incredulously. “You’ve been hounding me about talking to him for weeks and now it’s just ‘fine’?”

Sam shrugs, turning back to the TV like he’s not acting in any way out of the ordinary. “Yeah, well I met him today so yeah, fine. You were right by the way. He’s pretty cool. Weird, but cool. I approve.”

Dean’s jaw moves, but no sound comes out. A blood vessel bursts behind his left eye. Okay, not really, but it’s a possibility.

“You- What? How?”

Sam shoots his brother a flat look.

“I do know where Bobby lives, you know, and I’m not completely helpless while you’re off at work.”

“Well yeah, but-,” Dean huffs and glares at his brother. “Just explain, Sam. How’d you get there?”

Sam rolls his eyes, but turns away from the TV and Dean doesn’t miss the tiniest smug curve to his lips.

“Well, you see, it’s the latest development in transportative technology. Very big. All the cool kids are doing it.” Sam pauses as though waiting for Dean to put it together, but Dean’s drawing a blank, still stuck in a whirling confused panic because Sam and Cas met without Dean there as a buffer.

“I swear to God, Sam—,”

“The _bus_ , Dean. Techy,” Sam complains. “After school I took the bus out to Bobby’s instead of coming home. I only stayed for like 20 minutes, met your new BFF, and then Bobby drove me home.”

“Oh,” Dean feels at a loss, but it doesn’t take long before the anxiety starts bubbling up from his toes into his stomach and causing his heart to race and toes to clench. Shit. They met without Dean there to bridge the gap, to make sure they got along and talked about their shared interests. This is bad. Very very bad.

“So uh, how’d it go? You guys get on okay?” Dean picks at a hangnail rather than look his brother in the eye, but he needn’t have worried.

Sam’s off— Babbling on about the books they talked about, how fascinating their different perceptions are, and about their plans to hit up the library together on Saturday.

“Whoa, whoa, wait a sec. You guys only met once for 20 minutes and you’ve already started up a nerd book club together?”

Sam has the good grace to look a tad sheepish.

“Sorta, yeah. You don’t mind do you? I know he was your friend first. I’ll back off if you want me to.”

“No course I don’t mind. Just… happened really fast is all. No, you guys’ll have fun.”

Dean means what he says. They will have fun. He knows it. He probably knew it all along. They’re going to hit it off and become the best of friends and do all sorts of nerdy shit together; read books, paint each other’s’ nails, star gaze, the works.

But then why is there a sour taste in the back of Dean’s throat and a quiet dread in the pit of his stomach? This is what he wanted— Right?


	6. Chapter Six

**_._ **

**_— Castiel —_ **

**_._ **

“Robert—,”

“It’s _Bobby_ for the thousandth time you foul mouthed little—,”

“Bobby then,” Castiel interrupts, leaving Bobby to grumble under his breath. “I feel we both understand how terrifically horrible I am at fixing cars.”

“We’ll keep working on it. You’ll learn your way around them eventually and then…” Bobby trails off at the quelling look Castiel fixes on him. “Alright fine. You’re shit at cars. What d’you suppose we should do about that then?” Bobby demands, crossing his arms over his chest.

“How are your books?”

“My books? My books are fine boy. You’ve seen that for yourself. You spend more time with them books than you do anything else, ‘cept maybe Dean.”

“Not those books. Your accounting for your business.”

“My business is doing just fine.”

“Take me to your office and then you can decide whether I have any skills worth your time,” Castiel insists, unwilling to bend. He will find a way to be useful whether Bobby and Dean will help him get there or not.

Bobby grumbles under his breath the whole way up the stairs and to his office. He has two somehow. One in the back of the shop where he spends most of his time when he’s not bend over an engine and another in the house where he stores the vast majority of his paperwork and an old desktop.

Bobby pushes the door open to his house office and stomps inside. Castiel follows tentatively after, his eyes wide as he takes in the piles of paper spilling across the desk, the crude attempt at a filing system, and… is that a shoebox full of receipts sitting half buried in books on the bookshelf? Castiel’s eye starts to twitch. He hopes Bobby doesn’t notice. His gaze swings to the ancient boxy PC sitting atop the desk.

“Do you have Excel?”

“Quit speakin’ gibberish at me and just tell me what you need.”

Castiel suppresses a sigh. “Do you know what Microsoft Word is?”

“‘Course I do. How do you think I type up them invoices?”

Castiel holds back a wince. No wonder they look so amateurish; they were made with _Word_.

“Alright. Excel is the green one that comes with Word.”

“Oh that.” Bobby rolls his eyes. “I trashed all of them that I wasn’t using years ago.”

Castiel nods, but he has his doubts over how effective whatever Bobby did was in getting rid of the application in its entirety.

“May I see?”

“Knock yourself out kid.”

Castiel boots up the PC and it takes him directly to the home screen, no login necessary. Later he’ll bring up to Bobby setting up a password, considering how often he seems to house strangers. There’s no use upsetting the older man with too many changes all at once.

Sure enough, there is no Excel icon on the desktop or pinned to the start menu with the Word icon. It takes Castiel a moment to remember how to use the outdated system, considering how many years it’s been since he’s used Windows XP. Luckily, it’s easy enough to follow the All Programs pop out menu and then find Microsoft Office and hover the cursor over it until the list of applications appears and low and behold, there are all of the Office applications including Excel.

He right clicks and creates a desktop shortcut and then opens the application.

“This is Excel. It is a very useful application and once you learn how to use it, it can be used to create spreadsheets, record information, create graphs, and is much easier to use to create invoices than Word and they will look more polished.”

“I don’t give a damn what my invoices look like,” Bobby grumbles.

“Your customers do. They should be simple and easy to follow and this program allows you to make them that way with minimal effort,” Castiel explains, not put off in the least at Bobby’s complaints.

Castiel spends the next half hour showing Bobby the different ways Excel could streamline the paperwork end of his business and explaining how he could organize the office space for him and create a more coherent filing system. Bobby growls and complains the entire time, but it’s nothing less than exactly what Castiel expected so he ignores it. Bobby is most displeased when Castiel snatches the shoebox from the bookshelf and upends the thing over the desk.

“What in the hell are you playin’ at boy?” Bobby barks, but Castiel ignores him and continues to sort through the slips of receipt paper and the haphazardly folded packing slips.

“Some of these are from months ago,” Castiel says, frowning down at a receipt from July. It’s March.

“So I’m a bit behind. What of it?” Bobby gripes, crossing his arms defensively.

Castiel turns to fix him with a stare, his eyebrows raised high.

“How do you know how much money your business has? How much can you afford to spend on parts and labor?”

Bobby glares. “I know how to check my bank account balance. I weren’t born yesterday.”

Castiel frowns in dismay. “You don’t have a separate account for your business?”

“Why would I need that? The one I got holds money just fine.”

Castiel rubs harshly at his forehead. This is so much worse than he thought. Bobby is literally just coasting by and hoping for the best.

“First of all—,” Castiel begins tiredly, but that’s as far as he gets before Bobby flaps an arm in his direction and shushes him.

“You ain’t gotta first of all nothin’ to me, you’re hired. Do whatever it is you gotta do and come find me when you’ve done it.”

Castiel’s jaw drops, but Bobby doesn’t have time or patience for his disbelief, he’s already stomping towards the door.

“Wait, you don’t even—,”

“I know more than you think, boy. I know you’ve got too much integrity to steer me wrong and I know you got a lot more knowledge about this kinda thing than I’ll ever have or ever care to have. As far as I can see, you’re the perfect candidate for the job. Now, unless you’ve changed your mind and would prefer to go out and replace a faulty water pump with me, get to work.”

“Yes, sir,” Castiel replies reflexively, astonished that it was so easy.

“Don’t you ‘yes sir’ me boy,” Bobby says, tossing a beady-eyed look over his shoulder as he makes his way into the hall. “I ain’t yer daddy.”

Castiel’s blood runs cold at the offhand comment. Bobby couldn’t possibly know, could he? Castiel hasn’t told anyone, not even Dean, who his family is. Bobby couldn’t possibly know. Castiel sits rigid in his seat for a few long minutes, long after the back door bangs shut as Bobby leaves, heading back out to his cars and his shop.

After a while Castiel slowly begins to come back to himself and starts organizing the receipts by date. If Bobby does know, he hasn’t kicked him out at least. There was no order to get off his property and go back to his rich powerful daddy and quit whining about his silver spoon fed life. Either Bobby doesn’t know or he doesn’t care. Castiel isn’t sure which option he prefers, neither is undesirable.

He continues sorting, but is soon interrupted by a light knock on the door. He looks up fully expecting to see Bobby’s bearded scowl framed by the doorway, but is instead met with a fresh faced boy with shaggy brown hair, high school aged if Castiel were to guess and fresh out of class judging by the backpack hanging from his shoulders.

“Hi, I’m Sam,” the boy says with a small wave and a hesitant smile. Castiel knows he should respond, possibly say hello in return, but his brain seems to be stuck.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Castiel says, his low voice too loud in the small room. The boy looks taken aback and opens his mouth, but Castiel continues. “Customers aren’t allowed in the house. Unless,” he contemplates, tilting his head, “you’re not a customer, then you shouldn’t be here regardless. You should leave before Mr. Singer finds you. He won’t be pleased.”

The boy’s face crinkles in confusion and his gaze seems to sharpen, like he’s encountered something he didn’t expect and needs to form a new hypothesis to replace the original. When he speaks, it’s not anything Castiel expects.

“You shouldn’t let him catch you calling him Mr. Singer. He hates that.”

“I know,” Castiel responds, frowning deeply as the boy’s words tickle a memory. On Castiel’s second day Dean said almost the exact same thing... Dean. Dean has a brother named Sam. A younger brother in his junior year of high school. Castiel goes still in the desk chair and he focuses more intensely on the boy in front of him.

“Sam… Winchester?” he hazards a guess. The boy beams back at him and steps further into the room.

“You really thought I just wandered in off the street? We’re in the middle of nowhere basically.”

And there’s a near copy of Dean’s teasing grin, refabricated onto a different face but entirely recognizable. Castiel critically examines Sam Winchester as he wracks his memory for everything Dean has ever told him about his younger brother. There’s a surprising amount. Well, surprising only if one is unaware of how much Dean loves his brother and Castiel certainly is not. His palms begin to sweat.

“Your hair isn’t floppy,” Castiel mutters almost to himself, tilting his head as he glares up at the offending protein filament.

Sam laughs, startling Castiel, and runs a hand down his hair to straighten it, much the same way Dean does when he’s nervous. It must be a family trait. How fascinating.

“He’s always complaining about how long it is. I’m not even sure if I like it long, at this point I’m growing it out just to piss him off.” Sam grins again, like Castiel is supposed to join in the merriment, but Castiel is uncertain what he’s supposed to be finding amusing.

“Why would you want to upset Dean?”

Sam’s grin is surprised off his face by the question.

“I don’t really want to upset him. It’s just…” Sam trails off with a thoughtful frown. He lights up as an idea strikes and continues. “It’s the same reason you call Bobby by the name he doesn’t like.”

Castiel’s eyebrows pull together.

“Petty retaliation?” he asks, confused over what exactly Sam could be retaliating at Dean for. Dean hasn’t ever mentioned anything. Sam grins.

“Exactly. The last hair cut Dean gave me was horrible. It took forever to grow out and going to school like that was a nightmare. I haven’t let him cut my hair since.”

“I see,” Castiel responds. That makes sense, he supposes.

The room falls into an awkward quiet after that and Castiel is not well versed enough in social convention to know how to pull them out of it. Oh this is going very poorly. Castiel quietly panics, pressing his sweating palms against his thighs under the desk. He is not prepared for this meeting. Not in the slightest.

Sam clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“So… You and my brother, you’re friends, right?” Sam asks. Castiel blinks a few times.

“I do consider Dean my friend, but I cannot speak for his preference.”

Sam gets a funny look on his face like there’s something he just can’t quite figure out and Castiel feels that it’s something to do with him. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. The shame is already settling in. Usually it only comes when Castiel has failed his father in some way or another, but it’s not altogether surprising that he would react the same way to failing Dean.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“Why what?”

“Why is Dean your friend?” Sam asks. His face is steely and the tense way he holds his body clues in Castiel that this is a very serious question. He’s not entirely sure why it needs to be asked, but he does his best to answer as honestly as possible.

“Dean is… Dean is a good man.” It falls short, even to Castiel’s ears and he holds back a cringe. If this is some kind of test he is mostly definitely failing.

“Yeah he is, but why is he your _friend_?” Sam presses.

Castiel frowns and gives it some more thought. Why _is_ Dean his friend? Dean draws Castiel to him like a beacon. Dean is light where everything else is shades of gray. He makes Castiel feel alive and worth something in a way he never has before. He feels like he matters, like his choices matter and even if he doesn’t make a single difference in the whole world, or even to one person, he matters. But Castiel doesn’t feel comfortable telling Dean’s younger brother any of that.

“I— Dean makes me happy,” Castiel trails off. He doesn’t know what else to say. What else is there to say? Why do people choose the people they choose for companionship? Dean is the first person outside of family that Castiel has ever selected as a friend; the very first and the only. What is it about Dean?

“He’s kind,” Castiel says, remembering that very first day when Dean made sure he had a warm place to sleep rather than just kicking him out and washing his hands of him. “Compassionate. He would rather you think otherwise because he doesn’t think very highly of himself, but it’s not something he can hide. He wants you to think he only ever says what he means, but often I have found it’s the opposite. He’s also brash and stubborn and irrational, but he… He has a bright soul. Not pure, I don’t think, but it doesn’t have to be untainted to be beautiful.”

Castiel trails off feeling that he hasn’t articulated himself well at all. How could someone describe all that encompasses Dean Winchester in only a few words? It isn’t possible. Perhaps he has overshared. And yet, judging by Sam’s facial expression, he’s finally solved the puzzle he came here to piece together. Whatever it is, he doesn’t share it with Castiel.

“Huh,” is all he says. Sam regards Castiel as though in a new light and Castiel is not sure whether or not it is in his favor. “Dean told me you like the Lord of the Rings movies.”

Castiel brightens, partly because the interrogation appears to be over, and partly because he does enjoy talking about what he’s learned in the short time Dean has been teaching him pop culture.

“Oh yes. They’re much better than the books.”

Sam’s jaw drops and he loses the polite facade that people usual keep up like a protective cloak around strangers.

“What?” he yelps. “How could you possibly think— It’s a _classic_!”

“Yes, and as such it ought to be _retired_.” Sam makes an indignant noise, but Castiel powers on over the top of it. “Back in its day I’m sure it was revolutionary, but in this century we have a decent enough selection of well written and captivating novels so that we don’t have to rely on J.R.R Tolkien's long winded descriptions of flora and shrubbery to satisfy our desire for worlds outside our own.”

“And I’m sure you’re the leading expert on creative writing,” Sam remarks. Castiel isn’t certain what his tone indicates he is thinking so he answers truthfully.

“No,” he answers carefully. “I wasn’t allowed to write about what I truly wanted so I stopped and focused instead on math. I do love the written word, but I’ve found I have a knack for numbers.” Castiel leaves out that it was his father that didn’t allow him to write from the heart. His father felt that if he wasn’t writing to promote God then he shouldn’t be writing at all. So Castiel put down his pen and picked up a calculator. There was a comfort with numbers. Numbers are fact, they are absolute. They cannot be misconstrued as communication to or from God or the devil.

Sam seems to pick up that there is something else that Castiel is not saying, but Castiel stays quiet and Sam doesn’t push.

“We should go to the library Saturday. They usually have authors come in and do lectures on the second Saturday of the month. I don’t know who they’ve got lined up this month, but I’ve gone to a few and I haven’t been disappointed yet.”

Castiel blinks. He was not under the impression that this meeting was going well enough for there to be a planned second meeting so soon and without Dean.

“Oh. I’m not sure if I—,”

“Dean has to work so you wouldn’t be missing out on seeing him. Please? It’ll be fun having someone to go with for once.”

“I should ask Bobby first.” As soon as the words are out Castiel knows he’s done something strange. Sam’s face morphs from that of a puppy pouting to a confused kitten. Castiel now understands Dean’s frequent complaints about Sam’s habit of getting his way.

“Bobby doesn’t work weekends.”

“He doesn’t,” Castiel agrees.

“Then why would you need to talk to him?”

Castiel can’t look at Sam. “I— He is the master of the household and I am—,’

“An adult,” Sam interrupts, voice insistent. “Not a prisoner. You can come and go whenever you want so long as you’re here when you’re supposed to work. You can do whatever you want, go wherever you want, and you don’t have to tell Bobby a damn thing if you don’t want to.”

Sam is emphatic and impassioned in a way Castiel doesn’t understand. Sam has no connection to Castiel outside of Dean and if Castiel knows even the most basic thing about Dean Winchester it’s that he isn’t the type to divulge information that be construed as emotive lightly. Therefore, it is highly unlikely that Dean has told Sam much of anything of their friendship. Sam has no reason to care for Castiel as anything other than a stranger living in a pseudo relative’s home. It doesn’t make sense.

“You don’t have to go with me if you don’t want to,” Sam continues over Castiel’s silence, “but if you do, you don’t have to answer to anyone.”

The words hit Castiel like a bullet to the chest. _You don’t have to answer to anyone_. Sam’s right. This isn’t his father’s house. He isn’t welcome there ever again anyway. He doesn’t need to receive approval in order to leave. He doesn’t have to chart out his plans and draw out the route he wishes to take. There is no one to deny his request. No one to tell him who he is and isn’t allowed to speak with and which places he can and cannot go.

He’s free. Freer than he’s ever been before at least.

“I would like nothing more than to visit the library with you, Sam. What time is this event and how do I get there?”

Sam’s grin is a slow thing, but once it forms it radiates with the brilliance mostly seen in the delighted smiles of young children, long before the harsh reality of life robs them of their unrestrained joy and innocence.

“I’ll pick you up at one. Listen, I gotta go. Dean’s expecting me to be home when he gets there and if I’m not, he’ll flip.”

“I understand. It was nice to meet you, Sam.”

Castiel suddenly realizes that he’s been sitting the entire time they’ve been talking while Sam stands just inside the doorway. He’s fairly certain he was supposed to stand and introduce himself when Sam first entered and it’s far too late for that. He stays sitting.

“You too Cas. Err— Castiel,” Sam corrects himself and then seems to deflate a little. “I don’t know what you prefer to be called. Dean always calls you Cas, but Dean’s been calling me Sammy for years even though I keep telling him it’s just Sam now and he doesn’t listen.”

Castiel smiles a little. That sounds very like Dean.

“You may call me Cas if you wish. I don’t have a preference,” Castiel lies through his teeth. ‘Cas’ is the nickname his first ever friend gave him. He will cherish it always.

“Sure. Cas it is,” Sam replies with a friendly smile. It seems Sam is everything Dean claimed him to be: personable, kind, intelligent, perceptive, a beacon of innocence and light in a corrupt dreary world. Perhaps Dean didn’t use those words exactly, but after spending a decent amount of time with Dean, Castiel has learned that to truly get to know him you must read between the lines. Dean rarely reveals what is truly going on in his heart, but if you pay attention, his love for his brother is unmistakable.

“Oh hey, one more thing,” Sam starts, already halfway out the door. Castiel waits. “Petty retaliation?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your petty retaliation against Bobby. The name thing? What’d he do?”

“Oh. Nothing extreme, but he refuses to call me by my name. It’s only ever ‘boy’ or ‘idjit’. I’ll call him by his name when he calls me by mine,” Castiel says with a careless shrug. Sam barks a laugh.

“Oh boy. I get why Dean likes you so much now,” he says with a devilish grin. “See you Saturday!”

Castiel forgets to respond before Sam is already dashing away and the back door slams behind him on his way out to find Bobby presumably. Despite the slip up Castiel fairly floats through the rest of the day, Sam’s parting words playing over and over in his mind until he finally drifts off to sleep that night.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

The next day Castiel is working in the office, slowly making his way through hundreds of receipts and scraps of paper covered in almost indecipherable scribbles. Bobby has left him to do as he pleases, much to Castiel’s surprise. He had expected the crotchety old man to be more protective over his “turf” and his “privacy”. It is an unexpected, but undeniably pleasant surprise that he is allowed to work alone, uninterrupted. For a little while at least.

“What the hell, man?”

Castiel jumps at the sudden intrusion and sends a cascade of freshly organized receipts fluttering across the floor. Castiel ignores them for the moment, instead choosing to focus his attention on the irate Winchester standing in his doorway.

“Dean?”

“What the hell?” Dean repeats, scowling. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to talk to Bobby about doing office stuff? I would have backed you up.”

“I—,” Castiel falters. He didn’t purposely leave Dean out. It was a sudden whim; a rash decision after one too many failures and ten too many broken tools. He just couldn’t handle it anymore. It had nothing to do with Dean being there or not being there.

“Do you not trust me? Did you think I’d, I dunno, laugh at you?” Dean continues when Castiel fails to speak. Castiel frowns.

“Dean, it wasn’t a secret.”

It doesn’t seem to help. Dean eyes go wide and then he leans back in a mockery of a laugh.

“Oh so I just wasn’t important enough to tell. I get it. I won’t bother you anymore then,” Dean turns as though to escape the room, but Castiel can’t let him.

“Dean, stop.” He jumps to his feet and whacks his thigh on the corner of the desk, but ignores the flair of pain to instead address Dean. “Please. I don’t understand why you’re so angry.”

Dean turns back to Castiel with his face carefully shuttered and it’s only then that Castiel realizes that Dean isn’t angry. He’s hurt. Castiel still doesn’t understand what he did wrong. He thought Dean would be happy that he doesn’t have to clean up after Castiel anymore and hold his hand through every rudimentary task he attempts to tackle.

“I’m not mad. I just thought…” Dean shakes his head and takes another step towards the door. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” Castiel blurts. “Whatever it is, it’s not stupid. I didn’t plan to talk to Bobby about it. It just happened. I would have talked to you about had it been planned. You’re my… You’re my friend, Dean.”

_My only friend,_ Castiel doesn’t say. He knows Dean is typically repellant to expressions of genuine feeling and he doesn’t wish to make things worse. Dean’s hard expression softens a bit and his arms uncross so he can rub the back of his neck.

“I met Sam yesterday,” Castiel interjects into the stillness that follows and then immediately wishes he hadn’t. Dean’s shields go up once more and Castiel feels more shut out than ever.

“Yeah. Heard that too. Have fun Saturday, I gotta get to work,” Dean mumbles to the floor and then he’s gone, leaving Castiel wrong-footed and confused for the rest of the day.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

As it turns out, Sam’s definition of picking Castiel up is riding the public transport to Bobby’s house and then turning around and riding a different bus with Castiel back into town to the library.

“It wasn’t necessary for you to come out to Bobby’s. Had I known this was your intention I would have suggested just meeting you at the library,” Castiel says as they take their seats towards the front of the bus.

Sam shrugs, only half paying attention as he simultaneously tries to watch the blonde girl with her nose in a book at the back of the bus and not look like he’s watching her.

Castiel sighs. He’s never understood the allure of pure aesthetics. Not to the point of distraction at least. Of course, there are physical attributes that Castiel finds more pleasing to the eye than others, but he’s found that physical appearance holds no correlation to the quality of the person beneath the face, so he disregards it.

“If you wish to go speak with her I wouldn’t mind.”

Sam jerks back around to face Castiel, eyes wide. “What? No, I’m fine.” His eyes dart back to the girl, probably only a year or two older than Sam, and then turns away from the object of his affections seemingly with great effort. “It’s not like I’d ever have the guts to talk to her anyway.”

“Why not?” Sam is reasonably attractive for someone his age and although Castiel has only met him twice now, he knows from Dean’s stories that Sam has a good heart. Sam flusters and his cheeks turn ever so slightly pink.

“What would I even say?” Sam asks, shooting a nervous glance over his shoulder and then facing Castiel once more with wide hazel eyes. Castiel squints thoughtfully as the girl turns a page.

“Stop staring! She’s gonna see you!” Sam complains in a harsh whisper. Castiel redirects his gaze to Sam.

“I believe it is customary to say hello and introduce yourself.”

Sam huffs a little laugh and runs his fingers through his shaggy hair. “Yeah? And then what?”

Castiel shrugs. “Ask to sit with her.”

Same laughs more fully this time and the sound carries to the back of the bus. The blonde lifts her head, catches sight of Sam, and her lips curl into a small smile.

“Why don’t you go talk to her then if you have all the answers?” Sam quips. Castiel frowns. What good would Castiel do talking to Sam’s crush?

“I believe that with the age difference that would be construed as ‘creepy’. Besides, she seems more interested in you,” he adds with a small nod in her direction. She hasn’t looked away from Sam since he caught her attention. Sam darts a quick glance at her and their eyes catch. Sam flushes a deep red and immediately drops his gaze to where his fingers are twisted in his lap.

“Oh my God, she saw me. What do I do?”

“Umm.” Castiel trails off as he watches the girl collect her things, a bag from under her seat and her book which she tucks under her arm, and starts towards the front of the bus, directly towards where Sam and Castiel are seated or more specifically, Sam.

Sam looks at Castiel and then follows his gaze to the girl just as she stops in front of him. Sam’s eyes go wide and his entire body stills.

“Hi, I’m Jess. Do you mind if I sit?” she asks, tucking a blonde curl behind her ear with a pretty smile as she tips her head towards the empty seat beside Sam.

“Yes, I mean no, of course not! Sit,” Sam fumbles. Jess smiles impishly and perches herself on the offered seat with her upper body turned to face Sam.

“Sooo?” Jess intones, bouncing her knee a bit as an awkward silence unfolds. Sam doesn’t seem inclined to respond as he stares determinedly down at his sneakers. It appears it is up to Castiel to maintain social convention and carry their end of the conversation. It’s one of many things that Gabriel has informed him he has no grasp on.

“I’m Castiel and this is Sam, my… acquaintance.”

Jess turns a brilliant smile onto Castiel, a greeting and a thank you.

“Wonderful to meet you Castiel, Sam.”

Sam looks up as she says his name and their gazes lock in a way that Dean would describe as “vomit-inducing romantic crap”. Sam seems to collect himself and asks about her book. Jess lights up as she describes a post-apocalyptic world and her hands gesture enthusiastically as Sam drinks in her every word.

It’s fascinating, Castiel thinks, to have watched Sam fall apart as he did. Of course Castiel doesn’t truly know Sam, but what he has seen of him thus far and heard from Dean speaks of a quiet confidence and self-assurance. To see that so utterly dismantled by something as simple as a pretty face… Perhaps Castiel was wrong in thinking of his own lack of attraction to physical appearance as some sort of flaw. He can’t imagine being so at the mercy of someone he knows nothing about.

Sam and Jess talk for the remainder of the bus ride and when it’s over Sam steps off the bus with a shy smile and seven digits carefully printed on the back of his hand in looping purple ink.

“Thanks,” Sam says quietly as they remove their coats and hang them on the coat rack just inside the doors to the cozy old brick building.

“What for?” He didn’t do anything. It was Jess that took the initiative. She seemed to know exactly what she wanted and how to go about getting it.

“I dunno,” Sam pulls a face. “If it was Dean with me he’d have flirted and called me Sammy and then made crude jokes about me getting some and stuff like that. So I guess, thanks for not making it a big deal.”

“I believe situations such as these call for congratulations rather than ridicule.”

Sam rolls his eyes and they start for a small conference room that’s closed off from the rest of the library.

“Yeah, and that’s Dean’s way of saying congratulations.”

“I suppose it would be. Dean does tend to hide his true feelings under layers of humor and sarcasm,” Castiel comments as they take seats in the back of the room closest to the door. Sam spins around to face Castiel with wide astonished eyes.

“Yeah. He does,” Sam says carefully. “Most people don’t realize that.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say. Of course he noticed the habit of Dean’s. It was after this realization that Castiel began reading the lines between Dean’s words and his actions to discover Dean’s true feelings on a topic. He’s noticed a lot about Dean since then, mostly that Dean is not nearly as conceited as he would have people believe and that he has a heart of gold sequestered away behind thick walls of sarcasm, crude humor, and a devil-may-care attitude.

Castiel is not sure he wants Sam to know just how closely he watches his brother, how fascinating he finds him. Luckily, the guest speaker arrives at that moment and begins the presentation, arresting Sam’s attention to the front of the room.

A few hours later as they exit the library with new plans to meet again at the library the following Saturday, Sam seems to have forgotten his earlier suspicion entirely and instead chatters on about the author and intermittently glances at the pristine ink on the back of his hand. They part ways at the bus stop, Sam catching a bus going further in town while Castiel heads for the outskirts. Castiel watches the buildings grow fewer and farther between on the other side of the glass and wonders what Sam will tell Dean about their day.

Castiel truly enjoyed their time together, but what if Sam didn’t? He seemed pleased enough, but what if Castiel didn’t measure up to his expectations? What if he doesn’t think Castiel is good enough for Dean? He’s too quiet, too weird, too… different.

Castiel pulls the string above the window as he sees the turn off for Bobby’s street coming up and stands to exit as the bus slows. If Sam noticed all of those things he wouldn’t be wrong. Castiel _is_ too quiet and weird and different. Logically, Castiel and Dean shouldn’t be friends at all. They have nothing in common. Dean is light and sound and a tangible excitement that floods your lungs and breathes you to life while Castiel is quiet and removed and unyielding like a boulder in a forgotten cave at the edge of a cliff. An edge that Castiel has been testing for far too long.

Dust kicks up around Castiel’s faded and worn sneakers as he begins the long trek back to Bobby’s. Walking with Sam earlier, the sun had felt warm and bright as the tall grass bordering the lane whispered excitedly of a day filled with potential. Now he feels cold and the pleasant breeze has grown restless and hostile as its gusts tear at Castiel, attempting to turn him back.

Castiel presses on, as he always has.

It’s peculiar, he decides, pulling his trusty trench coat tighter against his frame, that he should miss Dean’s presence all the more after spending a day with his brother. They are surprisingly alike in a fundamental way, but beyond that they are like night and day. They are alike just enough to be a constant reminder that Sam is not Dean and while Castiel feels he could come to wholly enjoy Sam’s company in its own right, currently it serves as a bleak reminder that Dean is upset with him.

He arrives back on Bobby’s front porch just as the gathering clouds overhead finally conquer the sun and block it out just above the horizon line. Castiel swings open the front door and cringes as the hinges squeal before he remembers that he has freedom here. He doesn’t have to sneak in and hide from his father. He can come and go as he pleases. The thought is still fresh in his mind as he closes the door as softly as possible. It’s one thing to know a truth, but another entirely to feel it.

The only times Castiel has, without question, felt his freedom has been when he is with Dean; laughing at vulgar jokes and trying not to choke on his cheese stuffed crust. He could tell Dean his feelings and his fears, he’s only a phone call away after all. Castiel could call him and tell him everything.

Castiel has the phone in hand with no memory of having walked to the kitchen when the doubt catches him.

Truly, Castiel would love nothing more than to speak with Dean and tell him that everything he said about Sam is true and that Castiel feels privileged to know and be taken in by such a genuinely admirable young adult. And he wishes to tell Dean that he misses their time together and that, while Sam is wonderful, Castiel doesn’t laugh nearly as much with him as he does with Dean, and while speaking with Sam is very engaging and gives him a reason to exercise his intellect, it doesn’t leave him feeling warm and _noticed_ the same way that simply sitting with Dean in a silent room does.

The phone falls back onto the receiver and Castiel fists his hands at his sides. He remembers Dean’s parting words and stony face the last time Castiel mentioned Sam and thinks that maybe, though Castiel would love nothing more than to share his new experiences with Dean, perhaps Dean would prefer him to keep them to himself. After all, Dean is the one avoiding Castiel. Castiel shouldn’t make it harder for him.

“You waitin’ on a call?”

Castiel flinches at the sudden intrusion, but then almost immediately relaxes his hands and turns to face Bobby, his heart rate only slightly faster than normal.

“No.”

Bobby looks him up and down and Castiel tenses, expecting the dressing down that would surely follow such a frank response had it been directed to Castiel’s father; had Castiel been away from the house almost a full day without leaving an itinerary or even once checking in.

“You’ve gotten better,” Bobby comments, throwing Castiel for a loop and prompting a frown to crease the space between his eyebrows. “Still a jumpy little thing, but I wasn’t two seconds from getting clocked in the kisser so I’d call that progress.”

Dismayed to realize he hasn’t been as stealthy with his paranoia as he’d believed, Castiel drops his gaze to the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? I just said yer making progress,” Bobby huffs, looking for all the world like Castiel is dumber than the stray cat that manages to sneak into the shop to warm itself on the various engines and inevitably gets locked in overnight at least once a week only to fly yowling and hissing out the door the following morning like an escaping prisoner.

“I’m apologizing for making you fear for your safety in your own home,” Castiel explains, ignoring the look along with the incredulous one that follows. Bobby scoffs.

“I ain’t never said I was scared of you, boy. A little bean pole like you?” Bobby snorts and stalks off to start digging through cupboards. Castiel squares his shoulders and narrows his eyes at Bobby’s back.

“You have no idea what I am capable of,” he says, voice like gravel. Bobby chuckles and turns around with a can in one hand and a blue box in the other.

“As a rule, I ain’t afraid of nobody that gets all misty eyed watching kid shows. Now, d’ya want beans with your wieners or mac?”

Castiel glares.

“Neither, thank you. I’m not hungry. And Homeward Bound was very moving. Perhaps you could benefit from some ‘kid shows’, Mr. Singer.”

Castiel turns and leaves the room without waiting for a response, ignoring the hunger pains in his stomach and Bobby’s grumbling at his back.

He doesn’t call Dean.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

The following week Castiel finds himself in the same predicament. He has just returned from an enjoyable day spent with Sam and knows that Dean’s shift at McDonald’s just ended (courtesy of Sam), but he holds himself back from picking up the phone. Dean has been cold towards Castiel all week. At least, he has been the few times Castiel has seen him. Dean seems to be picking up more shifts for his other jobs than ever, and with Castiel working in the house now rather than the garage, he’s only seen Dean in glimpses and one accidental collision in the kitchen where they only exchanged a few words before Dean excused himself.

At first, Castiel tried to believe that Dean was simply busy and perhaps overworked and exhausted, but as the week wore on it became obvious that Dean was avoiding him. It hurts. Castiel doesn’t understand what he did wrong. It all stems from that day when Dean confronted him in Bobby’s office and it’s only gotten worse.

At first, Castiel thought maybe Dean was unhappy about Castiel’s blooming friendship with Sam. Castiel wouldn’t blame him. He can’t imagine he’d be too enthused if Anna were to befriend an older homeless man, but when Castiel said as much to Dean, after cornering him in the shop, hoping to clear the air between them and resolved to terminate his friendship with Sam should Dean wish it, Dean was effusive that that wasn’t it at all. And Castiel believed him.

So while Dean continues to draw away from Castiel and after three separate occasions where he sees Castiel’s approach and turns and hurries off the other way, Castiel is forced to concluded that it is his, Castiel’s, presence that Dean has become disillusioned by. It is Castiel himself, or some aspect of him, that Dean can’t stand to be around any longer and has begun actively avoiding.

It hurts, more than Castiel could have anticipated. But he believes he can find it within himself to respect Dean’s desires and keep his distance. His job change into office work couldn’t have come at a better time, for Dean’s sake. Sam’s friendship certainly helps dull the ache that Dean’s abhorrence leaves in its wake, but it doesn’t stop Castiel from staring at the phone in the kitchen trying to ignore the way Dean’s phone number, although never used, is seared into his mind and the way the insatiable itch to call his best friend beckons.

His fingers twitch towards the phone, but he draws back, shaking his head and retreats to his room.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

“It’s so frustrating,” Sam whispers from opposite Castiel. They’re at their usual table in the back corner of the old library, the scrubbed wood and ink stains becoming as familiar to Castiel as the light scars crisscrossing his knuckles.

“He doesn’t get home until almost one most nights and then he’s up again at the crack of dawn for another opening shift. It’s pissing me off. He’s running himself into the ground and whenever I mention maybe not picking up so many extra shifts he blames it on my stupid D.C. trip. It’s gotten to the point that I don’t even want to go anymore. Not if it means Dean killing himself over it.”

Sam flips his textbook closed with a hard clap that Castiel is sure carries up to the front desk, but he doesn’t bother reprimanding him. Sam is like Dean in the way that neither like to be sidetracked when they’re ranting.

Castiel hesitates, knowing what needs to be said, but not entirely sure that it’s his place. With a short shake of his head he reminds himself that he and Sam are friends, and as such he is allowed to ask somewhat intrusive questions; or at least that’s what _Chapter 9: Delivering Hard-Boiled Truths Sunny-Side Up_ of  Friendship for Eggheads tells him. It has been a surprisingly helpful publication these past few weeks, recommended to him upon request by one of the librarians when a sudden fear struck Castiel that he would ruin his friendship with Sam the same way he ruined what he had with Dean. Although, the author, one Garth Fitzgerald IV, uses far too many egg related puns in Castiel’s opinion.

So with the book’s advice in mind Castiel clears his throat.

“Sam? May I ask, why haven’t you, if you are aware of the burden Dean carries, gotten a job? It is my understanding that even while still in school, one could-,”

“I _did_ get a job,” Sam leans over the tabletop to hiss at Castiel. Castiel’s eyebrows slowly raise as he holds Sam’s fierce gaze until, with a heavy sigh, Sam breaks eye contact and slumps back in his seat.

“I did get a job,” he repeats, mildly this time but with a hint of melancholy. “And Dean _flipped_.”

Castiel frowns, but lets Sam continue as the boy runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly before allowing it to fall back into place.

“I thought he’d be happy. I wanted to surprise him so I didn’t say anything until after it was a sure thing, but then when I did tell him he acted like I just melted down his cassette collection and turned it into an iPod dock. He kept saying stuff like… I dunno. It made it sound like he thought that I thought that he wasn’t taking good enough care of me or something.

“And that’s such bullshit!” Sam says, in a tone perhaps too loud for the library. “Dean’s taken care of me my whole life. He’s always made sure that I’ve got food and clothes and anything I need for school; he was a damn better parent than dad ever was that’s for sure. Half the time I don’t think dad even knew I was…”

Sam shakes his head. “Anyway. The job only lasted until my Pre-Cal grade dropped to a C. Dean freaked out and kept going on about how if my grades slipped and I couldn’t get into a good university then it’d be all his fault for making me get a job, even though he had nothing to do with that and-,”

The librarian clears her throat and shoots them a pointed look from the end of the aisle. Sam cuts off with a harsh huff and Castiel takes the opportunity to interject his two cents.

“Your schooling is very important-,”

“It wasn’t the job!” Sam cuts across Castiel in a harsh whisper.

“What?”

“It wasn’t the job. I didn’t get a C because of the job. I got a C because I don’t understand inverse trig functions,” Sam says miserably. “I couldn’t tell Dean. He thinks this all comes really easy for me, like I’m some sort of prodigy or genius or something. He’s convinced that I can go anywhere and do anything, but I… I’m just me. I’m not anything special. I have to work really fucking hard to get the grades I get and even then I’m just average. There’s kids with 4.3, 4.5 GPAs and Dean thinks just because I have a 4.0 that I could get into Harvard just off of that alone.”

“You don’t want to let him down,” Castiel observes and Sam seems to wilt before his eyes. A bitter laugh falls from Sam’s lips and he shakes his head and stares down at where his fingers clench and unclench on the table.

“No I really don’t,” he admits. “He’s done everything for me, so if I could just do this one little thing for him then I could… I could…” Sam smiles bitterly and fails to continue.

“What is it you want, Sam?”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I asked. You’ve told me what Dean wants for you, but what do you want? For a job, for school, for your future. What do you want?”

“I-,” Sam falters and glances up guiltily through his eyelashes. “I want to go to Stanford and I want to be a lawyer,” Sam confesses, just above a whisper. He looks Castiel dead in the eyes as though daring him to go spill his secret to Dean, but Castiel has no interest in telling Dean Sam’s secrets. It’s not as though Dean will speak to him in more than passing anyway. Castiel ignores the sting that accompanies the thought and focuses back on Sam.

“That’s an admirable path. What kind of lawyer?”

Sam lights up and his eyes grow distant and dreamlike.

“I want to help people, like _really_ help so I think I want to be a Public Defender.” Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up before he can think better of it and Sam rolls his eyes. “I know, I know. The pay sucks. The hours suck. I’ll definitely get stuck defending criminals at least half the time. I’ve heard it all before and I don’t care.”

“Why then? Why a Public Defender?” Castiel wants to know.

Most people want to be a lawyer for the prestige or the paycheck. Public Defenders have neither and are consistently overworked with little to no break between cases and often work several cases at once. The stress that comes with the job is astronomical. People don’t usually last more than a few years in that kind of career unless it is truly their calling.

“I think I could make a difference.” Sam leans across the table with a feverish light in his eyes. “Like a real, honest to God, _difference_. Not to everyone obviously, but the people I do help wouldn’t be rich arrogant assholes who are probably guilty of, if not the crime they’re on trial for, then something else, something _worse_ even. They’d be ordinary people, regular Joe’s. Like you and me.”

_Not quite_ , Castiel thinks to himself, discomforted, not for the first time, that the Winchesters know nothing of where he comes from and what kind of upbringing he’s had, not that the fault for that lies with anyone but himself. They might as well come from opposite ends of the universe.

“I could tutor you,” Castiel says before anything else can pop unbidden from between his lips. Anything like, ‘I may not have been born with a literal silver spoon in my mouth, but that’s what I’ve eaten off of ever since I was old enough for the nanny to take me off the bottle’.

“You- what? Are you serious?” Sam stutters, his eyes wide as a huge smile starts to overtake his face like spring after a long winter. “You know calculus?”

“I am and I do. I rather have a knack for numbers and I had a very good tutor when I was your age. I’m more than a little rusty, but I’m sure we can figure something out.” He doesn’t mention that the “tutor” was a college professor hired by Castiel’s father and that they met for two hours every Monday through Saturday for two years and that the professor in question was compensated nicely enough to retire to a small California suburb and fulfill his childhood dream of owning a home with a full sized bowling alley in the basement.

“Cas you’re the best. Oh my God thank you so much.”

“What are friends for?” Castiel says and Sam returns his smile.

“Only,” Sam hesitates, the smile gone, “Could you not tell Dean about the whole Stanford thing? He thinks I want to go to KU, which, I mean, it’s not a bad school, it’s just… Not Stanford, you know? Jess got her acceptance letter last week and if she can get in then it’s like I’d have a chance too, but Dean is set on me staying close enough to visit. I just haven’t had the heart to tell him yet, and who knows,” a bitter smile crosses his lips, “maybe I’ll never have to.”

“I won’t tell him,” Castiel promises and tries not to think how simple the secret will be to keep. It is rather difficult to spill secrets to someone you hardly see and rarely talk to.

 


	7. Chapter Seven

**.**

**— Dean —**

**.**

“Fuck!” Dean curses as grease peppers the back of his hand for the third time in as many hours. Miraculously, he doesn’t drop the basket of nuggets this time and manages to safely dump them into the catch and return the basket to the fryer. With his hand cradled to his chest he whirls around to grab a towel and comes two inches from bowling over Lisa.

“Jesus Christ, Lis.”

Unmoved and unconcerned with Dean’s blasphemous ways, Lisa thrusts a spotty towel into his hands.

“Go home, Dean.”

“What? I’m fine,” Dean blusters. “It was hardly a sprinkle!”

“Dean,” Lisa sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “We can all see how tired you are. You’ve been picking up shifts left and right for months. You need rest.”

“I’m scheduled to close. I can rest later. I’m not on the schedule tomorrow.”

“What about your other jobs?” Lisa demands. Dean shuts his mouth and Lisa nods like she figured as much. “I’ll cover your shift, _payback_ ,” she continues over Dean’s protests, “for when you took my shifts that week that Ben had the chicken pox.”

Dean scowls.

“You don’t have to-,”

“I want to,” she cuts him off again. “Go _home_ , Dean. You look exhausted. Have you been sleeping at all?”

_No_ , Dean thinks belligerently. He hasn’t. Sam left with his group for D.C. three days ago and Dean hasn’t sleep a goddamn _wink_. The apartment is too damn quiet, there aren’t any damn textbooks on the coffee table, and the entire gallon of milk has been sitting in the damn fridge for two days and hasn’t mysteriously vanished yet. It’s driving him fucking crazy. All in all, he’s not surprised that his co-workers have started to notice.

“Yeah, alright fine. I’ll get out of your hair,” Dean grumbles, scrubbing a hand over his five o'clock shadow.

Lisa stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder and says quietly enough that no one else can overhear, “Really. Are you okay? You look like a zombie.”

Dean snorts. “Gee Lis. You really know how to pay a guy a compliment.” The worried look remains fixed in place as Lisa silently waits him out. Dean huffs a sigh and answers in undertone.

“I’m alright, just… it’s quiet at home.”

Lisa’s eyes flicker with understanding. Never pity, not Lisa. It’s what Dean likes best about her, that and her awesome five-year-old, Ben.

“Sam’s on his class trip, isn’t he?”

Dean nods. “He left Sunday morning,” he admits with a grimace. Lisa pulls a face.

“Ben spent a week with my mom in Iowa once. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I ended up just sitting in his room a couple times.”

Dean laughs awkwardly. Never in a million years would he admit to doing the same thing just last night. He ended up falling asleep in Sam’s bed somewhere around four in the morning. Lisa gets that look again and gives Dean’s shoulder a squeeze before dropping her hand.

“Go home, Winchester. We’ll survive a night without you. It’s for the best.”

“You say that now, but if I see on the news that the place burned down I’ll know exactly who to-,”

“Just get out of here,” she laughs and swats at him. He dodges it and Andy’s armload of buns as he appears from the storage closet and shoots a wink over his shoulder before slipping around a corner to grab his stuff. Only he can’t go home, not to the silent empty apartment with the full gallon of milk.

So he goes to the bar instead. Maybe he just needs to get good and hammered and then sleep will hit him like a ton of bricks, opening shift at the CoffeeHouse in the morning be damned.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

The bar was a mistake. The mistakiest mistake that Dean has ever made the mistake of mistaking. His brain is swollen and mushy and trying to squeeze out through his ears and his eye sockets. And every time that damn bell over the door jingles he wants to rip it off and shove it down the offending customer’s throat. Instead he smiles and says,

“Welcome to the CoffeeHouse.”

Okay, so judging by the customer’s less than impressed look, it may have been less smile and more bared teeth and dead eyes. Fuck it. Dean doesn’t care.

“Large caramel macchiato, skim, and two extra pumps of caramel,” the man says without preamble.

“Seriously,” Dean grumbles under his breath as he inputs the order into the register. The man frowns, but before he can say anything in return, a large warm hand claps down on Dean’s shoulder, jarring his poor aching head and giving him a near heart attack in a single moment. When Dean looks over his shoulder his heart takes a great swaning plummet to his toes. It’s his manager and the owner of the quaint little shop.

“I’ll take this one from here, brother. There’s some dishes in the back that could use some scrubbin’,” Benny says with a smile, but Dean knows he overheard him. He’ll be lucky not to be fired. Without a word he turns and disappears into the kitchen.

He rinses brownie remnants from a small plate and shoves it into the dishwasher before snatching up the next item. It’s shaping up to be a fine fucking week. He got sent home by Lisa and now he’s been demoted to dish duty by Benny. Next, Bobby’ll probably sit him up in his office so Cas can babysit him and make sure he’s a good boy.

_Don’t think about Cas_ ,” he reminds himself through the sharp pang in his chest. Every time he does, the little stab of hurt gets a little sharper, a little deeper. It’s not fair. Dean spent so much time worrying about Sam and Cas not getting alone that he didn’t even give a passing thought to how it would be if they hit it off. Dean’s already given up so much for Sammy, he never thought he’d have to give up Cas too.

But he has to let him go. Sam’s better for him and Dean can’t stomach the thought of being second best to Sam. Not this time. So he removed himself from the equation. There’s not gonna be a (Sam+Cas)Dean. It’ll just have to be Sam+Cas and they’ll probably be better off for it. Dean’ll just keep to the background and make sure a roof stays over their heads.

“Dean, I want you to take the rest of the week off.”

The teacup slips from Dean’s fingers and clatters into the sink where luckily it doesn’t shatter. Dean spins around to face Benny, who he hadn’t heard come in.

“Benny, look man, I’m sorry. Really, I just had a really shit night last night and I-,”

“Came in hungover. I know,” Benny interrupts, soothing and slow as usual. “You’re one ‘a my best workers, chief. I’d hate to lose you so I’m giving you some time off. You’re burnt out and keepin’ the kinda schedule you been keepin’ ain’t helpin’ you none. Take the time off.”

“But Benny-,”

“Dean, that out there,” Benny gestures to the swinging door behind him that leads back out to the counter. “That was unacceptable.”

Dean flinches. “I know, I know. It won’t happen again. If you’d just let me-,”

“Winchester,” Benny interrupts, words like a brick wall where before they were more like a warm hearty gumbo. “Take the time off.”

Dean glares down at his shoes and rips his apron from around his neck.

“Yes, sir,” he grumbles.

“Naw don’t you start with the sir’s now,” Benny chides, bricks to gumbo once more. “I like you Dean, and I want you here. I just need your head here too, understand? It’s for the best. You’ll see.”

Dean’s getting real damn tired of being told what’s best for him.

.

~*~

.

“It’ll do you good, son.”

Dean wants to _scream_. So Dean snapped one fucking bolt, big deal! But according to Bobby that means he’s in a “breaking things sorta mood” and needs to go “cool off”. Dean’s cool. He’s as cool as a fucking cucumber salad chilling in the fucking fridge fight next to that goddamn gallon of _fucking_ _milk_ that no one has drank yet. Totally cool. To prove it he huffs out a deep breath and forces the frustration out of his tone.

“Look, Bobby, I’m sorry I just-,”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bobby interrupts, waving a dismissive hand. “Just go on inside and amuse yourself till dinner. I’m makin’ burgers.”

Dean perks up at the mention of Bobby’s burgers. Bobby is a grill _god_. He can make roadkill not only edible, but tasty enough to make Dean’s mouth water just thinking about it. Also, if Dean stays for dinner, that’s fewer hours that he has to spend alone in the apartment. Win-win. He’s still sour about getting kicked out of the garage, but he keeps his yap shut about it. Yeah, the burgers are that good.

“Yeah okay,” he agrees, only a little bit petulant.

“Good. Now go get Cas and the two of you can keep each other outta trouble till I close up.” Dean’s heart plummets from his chest. The shop doesn’t close for another four hours. “Lord knows that boy could use a break just as much as you. The both of ya work too damn hard. And his lack of company lately certainly ain’t helpin’ matters,” Bobby says with a sharp eyed look towards Dean.

Dean ignores the pointed look as much as he can. Bobby made his thoughts on how he’s been treating Cas clear weeks ago. At the time, Dean just shrugged him off. Let Bobby think Dean’s being a dick. Better than him knowing that he got passed over for Sam. Although, maybe Cas spilled the beans while Dean wasn’t here. Maybe he’s been chatting on and on about how wonderful Sam is and about all of their wonderful shared interests and Bobby’s been able to put the pieces together by himself. Maybe Bobby just wants to watch Dean suffer.

“I’m sure he’s fine Bobby. I wouldn’t want to—,”

“Did’ja wanna stay for dinner?” Bobby barks. “Cas and me are having burgers whether your sorry ass gets to stay or not. Besides, a few hours spent with the best friend you ever had ain’t gonna kill ya. Hell, it’ll be damn near therapeutic. For the both of you. You’ll see. Now get out of my shop.”

Dean does as he’s told and strips out of his oil spattered coveralls with murder in his heart. _Fucking_ _Bobby_. Since when has he gotten so meddlesome? Crotchety old fart. He’s probably only bored and wants to watch Dean squirm.

The echo of Dean’s heavy boots slapping concrete rattles in his brain all the way into the ramshackle farmhouse and up the creaky staircase. Dean hesitates before reaching the open doorway. He _knows_ Cas doesn’t want to see him. Who would? But maybe Cas is just as lonely as Dean… Dean scoffs. Cas is fine. He’s got Sam and Bobby. He’s fine.

Dean shoves the door open before he can talk himself out of it. His heart clenches in his chest at his first glimpse of Cas in days, _weeks_. He doesn’t look up at Dean, instead devoting his full attention to the screen in front of him and chewing his bottom lip absently. His shock of dark hair stands every which way atop his head like he’s been running his fingers through it and Dean’s fingers twitch as he imagines running them through the soft locks, first to fix them and then to recreate the chaotic mess himself.

He stuffs his traitorous hands into his pockets and clears his throat. Cas mumbles something under his breath and turns his head a tick, but then something else catches his attention on the screen and he’s sucked right back in. The ache in Dean’s chest is back, but now it’s accompanied by something warm and soft that somehow manages to hurt all the more.

“Cas,” Dean says and the response is immediate.

Cas whips his head around so fast Dean’s amazed that it didn’t come right off his shoulders. Instead their eyes lock and Dean tries not to let the shame overcome him as he takes in the shock and confusion on Cas’s face and in those too-blue-to-be-true eyes.

“Dean?” Cas breathes and then shakes his head and rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. That’s when Dean notices the bags under his eyes and the slightly red bloodshot tinge and the way he’s hunched in his chair like he’s just as exhausted as Dean feels.

“Hey,” Dean greets awkwardly. Damn Bobby for putting him in this situation.

“Is everything alright? Is Bobby hurt?” Cas asks, suddenly concerned and boy does Dean feel like a dick for making it so Cas thinks the only reason Dean would set foot in the same room as him would be if someone needed a trip to the hospital.

“No, no, Bobby’s fine. Everything’s fine. I just… Bobby thought we could both use a break and so uh, here I am,” Dean offers with a shrugs and a poor attempt at a smile.

“Oh,” Cas says, some of the confusion lifting away as he starts gathering up some stray papers and receipts, suddenly unable to look Dean in the face. “Well thank you for coming here to tell me. I suppose I’ll just finish up here and then I can… read or something. I suppose you’ll be heading home?”

“Well uh, no actually,” Dean admits, scuffing the toe of his boot into Bobby’s threadbare carpet. “Bobby invited me to stay for dinner so I was just going to… hang out.”

“Oh.” Cas’s movements slow and he stares down at a sheet of paper with unfocused eyes for a long moment. “I will be sure to keep to my room then. I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable.”

“I was uh, thinking we could watch something actually,” Dean forces out with a tight lipped smile. What is he doing? Why is he doing this to himself. It was hard enough to move on from Cas the first time around and now he’s putting himself right back in the same position. But maybe, so long as they don’t actually have to talk to each other, this could be okay. Dean could still come back from this.

Cas furrows his brows and tilts his head in a familiar way that almost breaks Dean. Like Dean is a puzzle that Cas just can’t figure out no matter how long he stares. Well, joke’s on Cas because Dean’s pretty sure this puzzle is missing a piece.

“Like... a movie?” Cas asks.

“Yeah,” Dean nods, relief breaking over him like a wave. “A movie.”

Cas seems even more confused and just continues to sit and silently examine Dean until understanding lights upon his features and his mouth curves into a sad smile.

“Dean, you don’t have to spend time with me just because Bobby told you to. I can tell you’re uncomfortable. I’ll be alright.”

Equal measures of relief and dismay flood Dean. He’s been made. But also, Cas gave him an out. He can just lie to Bobby and say him and Cas sat around for four hours and… and…

Cas’s smile fades and he goes back to clearing up the paperwork scattered across the desk looking more exhausted than he did when Dean first came in. Maybe Cas is just as lonely as Dean without Sam around. It’s pathetic really, how they all fall apart without him. Well, maybe they can make this work for the next few days. Just until Sam comes home. Then Dean can go back to being Sam’s brother and Cas can go back to being Sam’s friend.

(Sam+Dean)(Cas+Sam)

Hell, Dean’s never been good at this whole math thing.

“We didn’t get to watch the Princess Bride,” Dean says. Cas stops his shuffling and looks up at Dean like he fully expected for him to be gone already. That hurts. Dean almost turns to leave right then, but the thought of his cold empty apartment stops him.

“We didn’t,” Cas agrees and Dean wants to groan. He can’t make anything easy can he? It’s like pulling teeth.

“D’you want to? We could.”

It takes a long time for Cas to answer, but when he finally does it’s with one of those small little close lipped smiles of his.

“I would like that.”

Dean sets up the movie while Cas finishes whatever he was doing. By the time Cas shows up Dean has the movie menu up and the blinds down to cut down on the glare. Neither of them say anything as Dean settles into the armchair and Cas perches on the far end of the couch. They normally share the couch, starting at either end and half the time somehow managing to meet in the middle, Cas’s perpetually cold feet typically jammed under Dean’s thigh and Dean’s arm stretched across the back of the couch, close enough to feel Cas’s body heat radiating off of him. Dean has to make sure that doesn’t happen this time. It’s already going to be hard enough to pull away a second time.

The movie starts and they sit in a horrible awkward silence. Dean’s grown used to the easy companionable silences they’ve shared. It’s never been awkward between them. Not even that very first ride in the Impala when Cas was just some homeless guy in need of a warm place with a roof and Dean was coming off a 12 hour shift at the McHellhole. And Dean hates it. He _hates_ it.

Dean can’t seem to keep his eyes on the TV. They keep flitting over to Cas like he’s a magnet and Dean’s made of iron. Cas, on the other hand, gets completely sucked into the movie within minutes. Dean can’t really blame him there. It’s an awesome movie. But then— _but then_ , Cas, that asshole, gets this stupid kicked puppy look when the grandpa narrates that Westley has been killed. It only gets worse as Buttercup steps out of the castle and the crowd bows to her.

“I don’t understand,” Cas murmurs, more to himself than to Dean. “She doesn’t love _him_. She loves Westley. Why—?”

“It’s just a movie. Calm down.”

Dean doesn’t know why he says it. Cas clams up and frowns at the TV, but Dean can tell he’s not enjoying it as much as he was before. For some reason that just pisses Dean off like nothing else. He’s knows it’s his fault, but once he starts he just can’t seem to help himself. If he could just get a reaction, if he could get Cas to _look at him_ , it’ll be worth it.

“Oh man, look at that dress. It’s hideous.”

“That dude is fugly.”

“Never mind. _That_ dude is fugly.”

“Spoiler alert. The ROUS dies.”

“You’re not gonna cry over the ROUS too, are you?”

Finally, Cas looks at him. He turns and channels a glare made of ice and steel that chills Dean’s blood and isn’t satisfying in the least. It’s nothing like the playful glares they used to exchange.

“I don’t understand,” Cas bites out slowly, each word pried from behind clenched teeth, “what it is about me that is suddenly so _repulsive_ to you that you can no longer stand to be in the same room as me, but please, do us both a favor and _leave_ if you don’t want to be here.”

Damn. That stings. Dean doesn’t say anything - what could he say? - he just stares wide eyed back at Cas’s glower. Eventually Cas turns away and resumes trying to watch the movie, but Dean can’t focus. He watches Cas instead.

What did he mean? How on Earth could Dean find _Cas_ repulsive? Dean’s definitely the asshole. _Dean’s_ the one who can’t handle coming in second best. There’s nothing wrong with Cas. Absolutely nothing.

Three times Dean opens his mouth to apologize and three times he closes it again without uttering a sound. Cas doesn’t seem to notice. He’s captivated by the movie once more, blue light flickering across his features and leaving dark shadows in the creases and pitfalls; Dean might as well not even be in the room. He could probably stand up and leave and Cas wouldn’t even notice. He decides not to find out.

Dean doesn’t apologize. In fact, he doesn’t speak another word for the rest of the movie. When it ends neither boy moves for several long seconds. Dean thinks for sure that Cas will get up and go back upstairs where he doesn’t have to deal with Dean’s shit. He still hasn’t looked at him and at this point, Dean can’t exactly bring himself to get mad about it. He deserves whatever Cas decides to dish out.

But Cas doesn’t leave, he doesn’t scratch his nose, he doesn’t so much as look away from the blank television screen. So Dean figures, so long as they’re both still here, he might as well start up another movie.

He hardly even looks at the case as he digs out Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The opening credits start as Dean settles back in his chair that is oh so far away from Cas. So far away that Dean considers relocating to the couch for the barest second before deciding that no, it’s too late. Getting up and moving now would be way too obvious and Dean doesn’t think he’s ready to have Cas’s undivided attention yet.

He’s still trying to puzzle out the whole “repulsive” thing.

A frown starts to tug down the corners of Cas’s lips the longer the intro plays. His head tilts to the side in that way he has that Dean would in no way call adorable (out loud) and it’s almost Dean’s undoing.

_God_ he’s missed Cas. The only person he thinks he’s ever missed more is his mom and maybe Sam when he’s gone on these trips. But he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is the most he’s ever missed anybody while sitting in the same damn room as them. It’s fucking illogical is what it is. Makes no goddamn sense.

The frown gets deeper as King Arthur and Patsy come galloping into view without a horse in sight, instead clacking a pair of coconut halves together as they approach a castle. Halfway through the argument with the knights on the wall Dean watches the epiphany light Cas’s face.

“Oh I understand,” he says. “This is a comedy.”

A high pitched strangled sound squeezes out of the back of Dean’s throat like a fist curled around his lungs and squeezed, but Cas doesn’t seem to hear it. A small smile curls just the very corner of Cas’s lips and his eyes are wide and taking in everything and Dean can’t look away. It’s been a long damn time since he’s seen Cas this _light_ , this happy.

A laugh bubbles out of Cas when the armless Black Knight kicks over King Arthur and starts up his childish taunts, but Dean misses all of that. Cas glances over finally, _finally_ , and catches Dean staring. His smile only fades a little as he looks Dean directly in the eyes.

“He reminds me of you,” he says simply.

Dean is so surprised that he’s finally being acknowledged that he can’t think of a single thing to respond with besides, “What?”

“The knight,” Cas clarifies, nodding to the television, “he reminds me of you.”

Dean waits, thinking maybe Cas will elaborate rather than just repeat himself, but he doesn’t. What the hell kind of thing is that to up and say to someone? Should he feel insulted? The Black Knight is stubborn and bullheaded and arrogant. What does that mean Cas thinks about him?

“I’ve missed you,” Cas confesses quietly.

Dean’s heart stops in his chest and then starts back up again double time. Why would he say that? Sam’ll be home in a few days and then Cas won’t need Dean anymore so what’s the point of trying to start anything back up?

“You— What? Why? Sam not good enough?” Dean blurts out and almost immediately regrets the accusation as Cas’s face falls into a small hurt frown. It’s yet another reason why Cas deserves someone better than Dean. Someone like Sam.

Cas doesn’t say anything. He stares quietly, taking Dean back to feeling like a puzzle with a missing piece. Cas can stare as long and hard as he wants, but he’ll never figure Dean out because of that missing piece.

“Sam is my friend, Dean.”

Dean leans back in his chair and looks down at his shoes. He knows what’s next. He always knew he’d never measure up to Sam, that as soon as Cas got a taste of interacting with someone normal he’d realize how fucked up Dean really is and start backing away slowly. Dean just beat him to the punch is all.

“But you’re…” Cas trails off, clearly frustrated. “You’re special to me.”

“What?” Dean asks, wide eyed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cas shoots him an annoyed look, like he interrupted a critical thought.

“You and I share a bond, Dean. Or at least, I thought we did. I’m not so sure now.” Dean’s pretty sure his jaw is hanging to the floor, but Cas isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s staring down at his hands and taking a deep breath as though to fortify himself.

“You are not obligated to be my friend,” Cas begins slowly, gently. “I greatly appreciate all that you and Bobby have done for me. I can’t hope to ever pay it back. But, if you do not enjoy our time together, I don’t wish to become a burden to you. I don’t want for you to… to tolerate my presence simply because you think you have to.”

“What?” Dean really wishes something more intelligible would come out of his mouth. “I- I like you Cas. I like hanging out and stuff. You’re cool.” Dean winces internally. _God_ , could he sound any lamer?

Cas squints at him for a long moment (stupid puzzle piece) before sighing and giving up on whatever he’d been trying to learn via telepathy.

“I don’t understand,” Cas huffs, frustrated. “If you enjoy our friendship and our time together then why have you been pushing me away? And don’t try to tell me you haven’t. I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re friends with Sam now so I thought… I figured I’d just get out of your way.”

Incredulity spreads through Cas’s features like spilled ink on a page.

“Dean,” Cas impresses weightily, “I can have more than one friend. And even if I could only have one, I would choose you.”

Dean’s face turns warm and he drops his head to stare sightlessly at the carpet. Why would he say that? No one has ever chosen Dean over Sam before.

“Don’t say that,” he mumbles.

“Why not?” Cas demands. “It’s the truth.”

Dean doesn’t say anything. What could he possibly say to that? He’s got nothin’. Eventually Cas gets tired of trying to stare a hole into the side of Dean’s head and turns back to the TV only to make a displeased sound in the back of his throat.

“I have no idea what’s going on.”

Dean scoffs lightly and starts rewinding back to the Black Knight. When the movie resumes, Dean still can’t focus. _I would choose you_.

Dean clears his throat.

“Hey uh, Cas?” Cas looks away from the screen, eyes distant like he’s physically facing Dean, but mentally miles away. Maybe it’s better that way. “I uh- me too.”

“What?” Cas asks, his gaze sharpening and skewering Dean with the piercing blue of his eyes.

Dean flinches away and tells the far wall, “I’d choose you too.”

Cas doesn’t respond verbally, but he gets this please sort of aura about him. He’s not really smiling much, but Dean can see him finally relax and settle in and that forced, awkward air to the room is gone and things feel warm and comfortable like they used to.

Later, halfway through Young Frankenstein, Bobby blows in through the backdoor, laden with grocery bags filled with beef, buns, cheese, and anything else you’d want on a burger. Dean and Cas jump up to help him unload, pausing the movie to continue later. Dean peruses through a few bags and then snorts. It looks like Bobby brought half the store home with him.

“Gee Bobby. How were you planning on making burgers tonight if you didn’t even have anything to make ‘em with?”

“I caught a sudden hankerin’,” Bobby retorts dryly. “Now make yerself useful and get out of my kitchen. Both of you.”

Neither argue, though Cas does seem confused by Bobby’s barked order, and retreat back to the living room to continue their movie. Just as the end credits begin, Bobby calls them back to the kitchen for dinner.

Dean shuts off the TV and follows closely behind Cas, barely managing to snatch the biggest patty off the plate on the stove top before Cas can get his hands it. Cas glares and retaliates by taking his sweet ass time with the buns while Dean stands there with his patty pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“C’mon Cas. It ain’t rocket science. They’re all the same, just pick one,” Dean grumbles.

Cas levels a stern stare at him. “Patience is a virtue, Dean. And so is sharing,” he adds with a pointed look at Dean’s patty. Dean holds the patty a little closer, just in case Cas is getting any ideas.

“It’s about damn time the two of you made up,” Bobby interrupts their bickering loudly. “The pair of ya have been downright miserable and it’s been making me damn crazy. I been sick and tired of _you_ ,” he points a stubby finger at Dean, “stomping ‘round the garage like the floor’s covered in fire ants and if I’da walked in on this one,” the finger switches to Cas, “starin’ all forlorn-like at the phone one more time I woulda locked the both of you in the cellar until either one of you was dead or you’d fixed whatever it was you broke. I won’t be puttin’ up with this pre-teen melodrama bullshit anymore. If ya’ll got a problem, speak up. No more wallowin’ about, ya hear?”

“Yes Bobby,” Dean grumbles, cheeks hot.

“We hear,” Cas adds.

“Good. I won’t stand for any more of it. You two are good for each other whether you think so or not.”

Dean looks up long enough to aim an incredulous look at him and catches Cas doing the same. Maybe everything isn’t as fixed as Dean was hoping it’d be.

.

**~*~**

.

Sammy comes home that Saturday night and it’s like Dean can finally breathe again. The apartment comes back to life, Dean sleeps like the dead, and the goddamn milk is gone from the fridge by morning. All is right in the world.


	8. Chapter Eight

**_._ **

**_—_ ** **_Castiel —_ **

**_._ **

No matter how hard Castiel glares at them, the numbers on the screen refuse to change. They can’t be right. They’re too small and too big in all the wrong places, not to mention, too _red_. Castiel sighs and digs the heels of his hands into tired scratchy eyes. There’s really no use denying it, he knows. Numbers are his strong suit after all and he’s been over it enough to know that those numbers are here to stay.

Singer Automotive is going under and it has been for a while. Long before Castiel came along, not that that’s any consolation.

Every broken tool, every service done for free after Castiel messed it up, every mistake is weighing down on Castiel’s shoulders. Singer Automotive was roaring furiously down a downhill slope long before Castiel came along, but he certainly hasn’t helped. He knows he needs to break the news to Bobby. He knows Bobby deserves to know. But he has no idea how Bobby will react. Will he throw Castiel out? Castiel may certainly deserve it and it will ease Bobby’s financial burden, but where would he go?

For all that he feels he has gained these past months, he has nothing to show for it. He has no money, no home, no nothing. He will leave here exactly as he started. At least he’s made it through the winter months. Spring is muscling its way into being as evidenced by the fragile little buds on the trees and the green returning to the grass and the non-stop rain they’ve been getting the past two days.

Wearily, Castiel rises to his feet and goes to find Bobby. It doesn’t take long. He’s in the first place Castiel decides to look, the garage. Bobby ignores him despite him no doubt having heard Castiel’s entry in the echoing shop.

“Bobby I have some news,” Castiel announces gravely as rain water puddles at his feet. He is both glad and disappointed that Dean is not here to tell as well. On one hand, Castiel does not imagine that Dean would take the news well, on the other, Castiel would much rather only have to tell this once. And Dean’s company would not be amiss regardless.

“You finally got to the bottom of that pile of paper, did ya?” Bobby responds, not bothering to look up from the engine he’s doubled over.

Castiel frowns. “Umm, yes? How did you-?”  
“Did’ja think I didn’t already know?” Bobby demands. He straightens up and fixes Castiel with a stern look. Castiel has no idea how to answer that question so he stays quiet, not that it matters. Bobby doesn’t appear to have been looking for an answer.

“Look boy, I knew before I’d ever moved here that it’d be the end of this old garage business. I was only stayin’ afloat before because of my regulars. The second I moved three states away I knew it was only a matter of time.” Bobby shrugs like it isn’t a big deal, like his livelihood isn’t swirling down the drain and leaving nothing behind in its place.

“I don’t understand. Why did you—?”

Bobby fixes a beady eye on him. “Why did I do it then? I thought it was obvious. Those boys needed somebody after their daddy died and I was the only one who was gonna step up to the plate, so I did. That’s all that’s to it.”

“But—,”

“But nothing. They needed me whether those stubborn idjits’ll admit it or not and I don’t regret a damn thing. Now, if you value your place here at all you’ll keep your mouth shut about it, you hear? I don’t need those boy’s goin’ and feelin’ guilty about something they couldn’t’ve done a thing to prevent. You get me?”

No, no Castiel does not “get him”. He does not “get” any of this. His father may have preached that God came before all else, but that was not the way he lived. His actions spoke that the most important thing you can have is your prestige, your ability to influence, your mark you leave upon others. But second was your profession. Your ability to get what you want and rise above others is directly tied to your ability to buy your way places and therefore your occupation.

God did not come first in their household, but neither did their mortal family. Either could always be sacrificed for appearance’s sake or should a choice be demanded; job or family. Castiel’s father’s career was always set upon the pedestal of life, high above any harm that might come its way and sneering down at the forgotten below. So no, Castiel does not understand giving up everything for someone who doesn’t even know of the sacrifice that’s been made.

“Castiel,” Bobby barks. He’s been silent too long. “I said, do you understand me, boy? You’ll keep your yap shut, you hear?”

Castiel glares back at Bobby.

“I won’t tell, but I resent you for forcing me to keep secrets from Sam and Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep your skirt on princess. It’s only a matter of time. Why don’t you go do somethin’ useful and quit bothin’ me. I’m trying to run a business you know.”

Castiel scowls, but turns and storms off as commanded. Halfway to the door he stops and half turns. Bobby lets out an explosive sigh and throws down his rag.

“What now?” He demands.

“You should know, I’m a terrible liar,” Castiel says calmly and continues on his way, barely making out the quiet “ _Balls_!” as Bobby curses behind his back. Castiel doesn’t bother to cover his smirk.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Castiel works through dinner for the third night in a row. He’s sure there has to be something somewhere that can help Bobby. Maybe they could sell some of the older cars or auction off their parts on a website Castiel discovered called “EBay”. He wishes, not for the first time, that he’d managed to keep in contact with Gabriel. Gabriel, who had to the last of Castiel’s knowledge, been planning to open his own restaurant somewhere in California. Gabriel would more than likely have some ideas or some valuable information to impart, or at the very least, Castiel’s cousin has always been very creative. He could help.

Castiel growls in frustration and clicks out of the open window with a little more force than is strictly necessary. They need to generate more business. That’s all there is for it. Bobby doesn’t have enough assets to sell to make up for what they owe. Castiel would know, he’s spent the past three days wandering the property and cataloging the value of everything and anything much to Bobby’s discontentment. But it’s still not enough. He needs to do something…

In a fit of desperation brought on by exhaustion and a lack of any other options, Castiel reopens the internet browser and types in, “How do I save a failing business?”. Castiel opens every link on the first page and devours their contents. A few things stick out and he alters his search to learn more.

A couple hours, several pages of notes, and countless searches later, Castiel finally has a game plan to put into motion. But first, sleep.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Bobby stomps away from him cursing for not the first time that day, but at this point Castiel is immune to the old man’s ire. He is going to save Bobby’s business and drag him kicking and screaming along with it. He has long since stopped fearing that Bobby will kick him out, and even if he did, he would have Dean and Sam to answer to. And besides, all it took was one idle comment that he could expose Singer Automotive’s precarious position should Bobby grow irritated enough to evict Castiel, and Bobby stopped using that threat fairly quickly.

Of course, Castiel feels a little bad about blackmailing Bobby into letting him have his way with his business, but it’s for the greater good so he pushes those unpleasant feelings away and tries to ignore them. Someday maybe Bobby will thank him. Maybe. Well, probably not, but Castiel’s not doing this for thanks so that’s irrelevant.

Castiel spends the morning overturning Bobby’s office in the shop for all of his documentation on his vendor’s and shipping schedules and anything else Castiel can get his hands on. It’s not much, but it’s more than he was expecting. On his way back to the house with the armload of paper Castiel firmly ignores the stink-eye Bobby aims his way.

Per some advice found last night, Castiel calls each and every vendor Bobby gets supplies from and explains the situation. Technically, Bobby only forbade him from telling Sam and Dean so he hasn’t breached his side of the agreement. Most of them are willing to work out a payment schedule with him to ease the financial burden and even ask after Bobby and how he’s handling the situation.

Castiel starts an Excel spreadsheet to document the new payment schedules and rates each supplier on both their willingness to adapt to their needs and their concern for Bobby personally. There are a surprising number that seem to have something of a base concern for how Bobby is handling his not-so-recent turn in favor. It allows Castiel to see him in something of a new light. He’s always known that Sam and Dean hold him in high regard, but Castiel is well aware of the blind spots you can have when it comes to family.

With that done, Castiel calls everyone who owes Bobby money and requests repayment to be made in haste. Some are less kind about the phone call, but Castiel brushes those experiences off and trudges onward. One of the articles he read last night equated resuscitating a failing business in likeness to fighting a war. He’s beginning to see what they mean.

Castiel strips every superfluous expense from the expenses sheet he drew up and sets about cutting them from their orders. Bobby will not be happy about it, but he seems to be rarely happy these days anyway so Castiel disregards that, too.

With the immediate needs taken care of, he sets about creating a marketing plan. Bobby’s major issue seems to be a lack of cash flow. No one is coming; no one _knows_ to come. So Castiel sets to work.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

“Dude.”

Castiel barely hears the single word over the volume of the thoughts racing through his head. Over the last few hours, he has designed a flyer and created an account with something called “Facebook” and is just now editing his first “Post”. It has been a trying experience. First he had to figure out how to set up an email account and then he had to fill in seemingly endless profile information and then he still had to figure out what to _write_ about.

Finally, he decided to write from experience and thus his first post is aptly titled, “How _Not_ to do an Oil Change” headed by a photo of Castiel’s destroyed red sweatshirt that he hasn’t had the heart to throw out yet despite not being able to wear it without giving himself a migraine. Bobby’s ancient camera almost wasn’t up for the task and figuring out how to upload the photo was a challenge all in its own, but with the challenge now behind him, Castiel is feeling very accomplished.

“Cas, are you even listening?”

This time the words come through clear, as does the realization of who spoke them. Quick as lightning, Castiel punches the button to blackout the monitor and swipes aside the open notebook in front of him where he penned the first draft of his post. It flops over the edge of the desk and crumples on the floor.

Dean stands framed in the doorway, eyebrows high on his forehead and a plated sandwich held seemingly forgotten in one hand. Neither of them say anything for several agonizing seconds.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel finally says, trying not to fidget in his guilt. A complicated array of emotions flickers over Dean’s face before clearing and settling on forced amusement. Castiel frowns.

“Porn?” Dean quips with a strained smirk.

Castiel blanches. “No!”

Dean snorts and seems to remember the plate in his hand.

“Whatever dude. Anyway, I brought up dinner and Bobby says, and I quote, ‘Tell that idjit to shut down. I ain’t payin’ him to work himself to death over nothin’,” Dean says in an eerie impersonation of Bobby.

Castiel presses his lips together tightly. It’s hardly over _‘nothing’_ and he’s not working himself ‘ _to death_ ’. Perhaps he’s a little overtired and he forgot to each lunch today, but every single article he read last night along with the company he called this morning for a “free confidential chat” all insisted on the importance of implementing changes as soon as possible so Castiel has done just that. And besides all that, Bobby doesn’t pay him. He can’t afford to.

Castiel considers arguing, but his stomach loses the battle for him in that exact moment as it lets loose a loud growl.

“Let me finish this and then I will quit for the night,” he concedes gracefully. Dean rolls his eyes and sets the plate on the edge of the desk.

“Yeah alright. I’ll see you around.”

“Dean wait!” Castiel calls out before Dean can fully exit the room. Dean turns around, but doesn’t step closer and raises an impatient eyebrow. Suddenly Castiel feels thrown back into the past few weeks where Dean hardly tolerated his presence when he wasn’t outright avoiding him. The reminder is like a kick to the chest and it takes a minute for Castiel to regain his breath.

“What is it, Cas?” Dean asks, his voice giving nothing away.

“I was wondering,” Castiel starts slowly, carefully watching Dean’s face for signs that he should cease and desist. “Do you have to leave? I won’t take long and then we could watch something. But I understand if you need to go to Sam or to sleep.”

Dean hesitates and Castiel is getting nothing from his expression. It’s incredibly frustrating.

“What would we watch?” Dean asks, tone almost flat. Castiel’s heart drops, but he hasn’t been rejected outright yet so he persists. Today seems to be a day of clearing hurdles so he is going to keep making his best effort to clear the frost from his and Dean’s relationship. He takes a deep breath and forges on.

“Well, there is a new documentary premiering on Animal Planet about manatees,” Castiel offers. Dean makes a strange face so he hurries on. “But we don’t have to watch that if you don’t—,” Castiel huffs a breath, his throat inexplicably tight. “I know it’s not what you normally prefer…” Castiel peters off. The look of confusion that Dean is giving him is, quite frankly, adorable, but Castiel would never embarrass Dean by saying so.

“It sounds like Sam’s kind of thing,” Dean says. Castiel furrows his brow and his lips tug down in a frown. He’d thought they were past this… this inferiority Dean seems to have where his brother is concerned, but Castiel supposes that it was wishful thinking that a single half conversation could clear away a lifetime of insecurity.

“But I want to watch it with you, Dean. I miss your company,” Castiel admits. Blunt honesty may just be the best course of action in this situation. Dean’s gaze falls to the floor and he scuffs a toe into the threadbare carpet.

“Yeah okay.” Dean clears his throat. “I’ll uh, meet you downstairs then.” Dean disappears from the doorway as suddenly as he came and thus misses Castiel’s relieved smile.

With renewed vigor, Castiel finishes editing and hits “Post”. He stuffs his notebook into a locked drawer with the rest of the marketing plans and shuts down the desktop. Sandwich in hand, Castiel descends the stairs; the sandwich is gone by the time he reaches the bottom.

Dean is already in the armchair, remote in hand when Castiel enters the living room. Castiel scowls at the chair. He is truly beginning to hate it.

“Can we have snacks?” Castiel asks and tries not to look amused when Dean jumps and glares at him.

“Stop sneaking up on me,” Dean complains halfheartedly. “What snacks were you thinking?”

Castiel shrugs, but his stomach lets loose another growl.

“I umm, skipped lunch,” he admits sheepishly.

Dean rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. “C’mon then.”

Castiel trails Dean into the kitchen and when they return, arms laden with chips, popcorn, and soda, the armchair remains empty.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

“Sam, may I speak with you about something?” Castiel asks one Friday evening.

Sam frowns at him from the opposite side of the old library table.

“Sure Cas. What are friends for?”

Castiel shifts uncomfortably. “It’s about Dean.”

“Is he okay?” Sam demands, his forehead creased in concern for his older brother.

“Well, yes, it’s just, you may have noticed, well probably not actually. I doubt he—,”

“Spit it out Castiel,” Sam orders, profile sharp. Castiel doesn’t take offense. He knows firsthand how much the brothers care for one another. He sighs.

“Dean and I had something of falling out a few weeks ago,” he admits.

“Oh is that what his problem was?” Sam asks, instantly relaxing and reverting to his usual easy going countenance. “It was right before my D.C. trip wasn’t it?”

A little stunned that Dean had been upset enough for Sam to notice, Castiel nods. Dean usually tries to hide those things, especially from Sam.

“Yes. Well, more specifically, right after you and I became friends,” Castiel says, watching Sam’s response carefully. Sam blinks, taken aback.

“Oh. Well, I guess we could just—,”

“Don’t suggest you and I cut ties,” Castiel interrupts harshly. He barely refrains from rolling his eyes at Sam’s guilty expression. _Winchesters_. “I was simply going to suggest that we include Dean in our activities when we can so he doesn’t feel so left out.”

“Oh!” Sam says, “That’s actually a good idea.”

“I am known to have them upon occasion,” Cas replies dryly.

“Sorry,” Sam winces. “Did you have anything specific in mind? I mean, with how much Dean works there’s not a whole lot of time to work with and he’s usually exhausted. And,” Sam blushes, “I’d to spend what time I can with Jess before she leaves.”

Castiel nods thoughtfully. Jess was accepted into Stanford and begins her freshman year in the coming fall while Sam will be starting his senior year of high school. Sam told Castiel that they are going to try to make the long distance relationship work and Sam didn’t need to tell him that he hopes that it will only need to be long distance for a year and then Sam can join her.

“Maybe we should go to him,” Castiel suggests thoughtfully. Dean’s workplaces are public and not too horribly noisy depending on the time of day. It might be nice to venture out from their usual table in the back corner of the library and the off chance that seeing them there would brighten Dean’s day would be worth the distraction of the general public and the faint grease residue that seems to cling to every surface of McDonald’s no matter how often it gets cleaned.

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Alright. Let’s do it. I’ll call you later and tell you his schedule and then we can coordinate.”

Castiel smiles. “Thank you, Sam,” he says quietly.

“What are friends for?”

A few months ago Castiel wouldn’t have had an answer for that question.

“And we should totally make plans to do something altogether. Something fun. Like a movie or the zoo or whatever.”

“I’ve never been to a zoo before,” Castiel muses. Sam stops what he’s doing to stare for a second, but he collects himself quickly.

“The zoo it is then.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**.**

**— Dean —**

**.**

“Dean! We’re all out of fries!”

“I ain’t your waiter!”

“Dean, could I have another one of those ice creams with the cookie mixed in? I will pay for it.”

“Sure thing buddy, but it’s on me.”

Sam’s look of outrage is priceless.

“What the hell? How come I can’t have more fries, but he gets another McFlurry? That’s favoritism!” Sam exclaims, pounding a closed fist down on the table top in protest.

“Or maybe he’s just nicer than you.” Dean smirks.

Sam scoffs. “That’s pretty rich coming from you.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules. Show some manners and maybe you’ll get more fries,” Dean calls over his shoulder as he heads back behind the counter. Sam glares at his back and then returns to his textbook with a frown. Dean snickers to himself. Sam’s just too easy. Cas, on the other hand, seems to simply tune out their bickering. His nose only left the crease of his book for the meager seconds it took to ask for more ice cream and flash a small pleased smile before his attention was pulled away once more. Dean’s not sure how he feels about the state of his stomach after being on the receiving end of that little smile.

After Dean makes Cas’s Oreo McFlurry he grabs another medium fry on his way back out and drops it next to Sam’s math homework, making sure a few spill out onto his assignment.

“Never say I don’t do anything for you.”

“Deeeaaaan. Grease stains!”

“Them’s the breaks. Maybe you should have your little nerd fests somewhere else.” Dean shrugs.

Sam glares and says nothing and Dean appreciates it. No matter how much shit he gives Sam for him and Cas suddenly hanging out at Dean’s various workplaces while Dean works, nothing quite makes his day like looking up and seeing Sam’s floppy mop leaned in close to Cas’s wild locks as they squint at some textbook or another, and never has anything else made the day go by faster.

And, you know, he gets to see Cas a lot more often than he would otherwise.

“So the zoo,” Sam starts blithely and Dean groans. He’s not sure where him and Cas got the idea that the three of them are in a sudden dire need to go to the zoo, but they haven’t shut up about it for the past two weeks. Mostly it’s been Sam, but Cas will drop little hints and subtle reminders. Like yesterday when he mentioned that he’s never seen a penguin before while they were watching Penguins of Madagascar.

They’re ganging up on him and neither seem to realize how _expensive_ the zoo is. It would cost them almost forty dollars just to get them all through the gate and then there’s everything they’ll want to do once they’re in, namely _eat_. There’s another forty. Once it’s all said and done it’ll be a hundred dollars down the drain.

“I was thinking we could go Thursday. It’s supposed to be almost 70 and sunny and it’ll be less busy than going on a weekend,” Sam says. Dean nods absently, thinking. The less crowds the better. It doesn’t take much time spent in Cas’s company to see how jumpy he is around people. He’s gotten better over the past months, but Dean would really hate to put him to the test in a public place like that.

“Don’t you have school Thursdays?” Cas asks as he flips the page of his book. Oh right. School. Damn, Dean sucks at this whole guardianship thing.

“The seniors are taking the ACTs so the rest of the school gets the day off,” Sam explains. Dean and Cas both nod.

“I’m supposed to be at the shop,” Dean adds. “I’d have to check the schedule to see if we’ve got anything lined up.”

Sam and Cas both snap their heads up to look at him and Dean realizes it _almost_ sounded like he was giving them permission to go. Oh well. He didn’t go out and brush up on his pool hustling skills last night after leaving Bobby’s for nothing. And he made a pretty couple hundred bucks too. Guess he’s not as rusty as he thought.

“We’re going to want to get there as soon as they open right?” Dean asks, breaking the tense silence. Sam and Cas both grin, excitement flooding their features, and Cas finally puts his book down as they begin planning in earnest. Dean shakes his head and heads back to the counter with something warm curling in his chest. Lisa gives him a knowing look as he returns, but says nothing and Dean doesn’t offer anything in return. It looks like they’re going to the zoo.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

“Dean! A monkey waved at me! I waved first and she waved back, just like in that YouTube video!”

“That’s awesome, Cas,” Dean replies. He didn’t really realize what he was getting into with this whole trip, but he doesn’t regret a thing. He hasn’t seen Cas so excited about anything, ever. Watching him and Sam leap from exhibit to exhibit is more entertaining to Dean than anything in a cage could hope to be. Although, Dean wasn’t sure they’d ever be able to drag Cas out of the aquarium. Dude likes to watch fish. Who knew?

Sam and Cas lapse into a deep conversation over the mental capacity of primates and talk a lot about a gorilla named Koko and something about kittens and sign language. Dean’s not really paying attention. He’s never been more content in his life. His two favorite people get along well enough that they don’t even need him. At first, Dean thought it was a negative thing, but it’s not. They _don’t_ need him, but they _want_ him around and that makes a surprising difference. Dean has this balloon in his chest and it keeps expanding. Every time he thinks it couldn’t possibly get any bigger, it does.

Dean coughs up two dollars so Cas can feed some lettuce to a giraffe and it looks to be something of a religious experience for him. The whole time he’s up there he’s got this look of wonder on his face. He talks to the giraffe, something soothing and slow that Dean can’t hear from how far away he is, but Dean swears he sees Cas’s lips form the words thank you before he goes to wash his hands with a smile so big it looks painful. Dean’s insides feel all warm and squishy seeing Cas smile like that.

“I think I was wrong,” Sam muses, jarring Dean from absently watching Cas pump hand sanitizer into his palm with utmost concentration.

“You? Wrong? Never.”

“Ha ha.” Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean sees the bait for what it is, but he takes it anyway. Hook, line, and sinker.

“What was the great almighty Sam fucking Winchester wrong about?”

“You.” This gets Dean’s full attention and he finally turns away from watching Cas get distracted by a balloon stand and finds Sam staring him down looking smug.

“What about me?” he asks, more than a little apprehensive at where this is going. But he can guess.

“You’re not aromantic.”

Dean groans and turns away, already done with this conversation that they’ve had a million times before. Damn whichever deity convinced Sam that he needed to join the LGBTQA+ club two years ago. Ever since then Sam has tried to diagnose everyone he knows with some obscure sexuality or, God forbid, _gender identity_.

Cringing, Dean is reminded of the time Sam accused Dean’s old manager at McDonald’s of being gender queer, causing them to break down in the middle of the lunch rush and then later quit to commit full time to their secret cross dressing gig. She goes by Lydia now when she’s not feeling like Crowley. Dean still has nightmares involving ugly sobbing and undercooked chicken patties.

Sam continues on as though Dean’s not trapped, reliving the horrors of days past. “Or at least you’re not as far along on the spectrum as I thought you were.”

“The fucking spectrum,” Dean curses under his breath, rolling his eyes to clouds. “Sam, I told you I don’t need a goddamn label. So for fuck’s sake, would you stop trying to stick one on me? How I am is just _how I am_. Simple as that. I don’t need fancy explanations or a damn website or a— a _spectrum_ to explain to me what I want,” Dean snaps, trying to keep his voice down and not draw attention to them in the crowded zoo. The last thing he needs is some douchebag overhearing and starting crap.

“All I was saying is that I was wrong, Dean,” Sam tells him, bitchface #7 drawing his lips into a thin disappointed line. “You don’t need to bite my head off. I thought you’d be happy to hear it.”

And before meeting Cas, maybe Dean would have but now it just makes the already complicated situation even messier. Dean has almost resigned himself to a lifetime of unfulfilled pipedreams and Cas couldn’t be less interested and Dean could never steal away one of Sam’s only friends. The poor kid has even less friends than Dean does. Kevin is about the only worthwhile one and he’s even worse off than Sam on the whole flipping-shit-over-college scale. And they’ve still got a whole ‘nother year of high school left before they actually _go_ anywhere. Not to mention he just lost Jess to some fancy-pants university in friggin’ California of all places. They’re trying the long distance thing, but Dean’s not hopeful. That’s a long way for four whole years.

So yeah. Dean would feel like shit stealing away the only friend that actually has time for Sam. Not to mention the whole, Cas isn’t interested thing.

Cas returns at that moment, but his smile droops after one look at Dean’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’ buddy,” Dean says, trying to infuse some levity into his tone. “Where to next?”

Cas frowns at him for a long moment, but after a glance at Sam seems to decide to let it lie. Dean releases the pent up breath he was holding in.

“I already chose. It’s your turn,” Cas says, voice low and deep.

“Yeah but you’ve never been to a zoo before,” Dean points out for the 207th time that day (he still could hardly believe it when Sam told him, but seeing as his dad is Mr. “TV is Satan’s advertising medium” Dean doesn’t think he should’ve been so surprised.

“And now I _have_ been to a zoo and I want to know what you like, Dean,” Cas retorts and oh shit. That’s his stubborn face. Dean tries out a few weak objections, but Cas isn’t even responding to them anymore. He’s just staring and waiting and people are starting to stare and Dean’s starting to feel a little hot under the collar. Sam, that asshole, is content as can be reading a pamphlet on butterfly migrations. Nerd.

“Dean likes the sea lions,” he says without looking up.

_Traitorous_ nerd.

Without another word, Cas swivels around and starts back down the path they just walked to get to Africa.

“Caaas,” Dean calls after him. “Seriously man, we can hit them up on the way out. They’re all the way back at the entrance. It’d make more sense to keep going and circle—,” Dean breaks off with a loud sigh when it becomes clear that Cas is going to ignore him and do what he wants anyway. Stubborn bastard.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Three hours later finds them back in the aquarium where they started. Dean is collapsed on a bench resting his poor aching feet, Sam is passed the fuck out on another bench, his legs hanging uncomfortably off the end (Dean swears the kid is taking something to make him sprout up like he has been lately), and Cas has his nose practically pressed to the glass of the large coral reef tank, watching the tropical fish dart this way and that while the coral sways with the current. They’re the only ones left in the room.

A computerized _ping_ breaks through the quiet as the intercom recording warns them that the zoo closes in five minutes.

“You heard the disembodied voice, Cas. Time to go,” Dean says tiredly. He really wishes he could just pass out in public like Sam. It’d make his life a helluva lot easier.

Cas doesn’t seem to hear him or, more likely, pretends he didn’t. With a sigh, Dean heaves himself to his feet and shuffles across the room to his friend. _Friend_ , he reminds himself firmly.

“Cas, c’mon man. I’m exhausted,” Dean admits, leaning his shoulder into the glass beside Cas like he’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to do. Cas turns his wide blue eyes to him and still says nothing. He just stares like he’s drinking Dean in; taking in every freckle, every flaw, every crease of skin. Still, he says nothing.

“Cas?”

Finally, Cas blinks and seems to shake off whatever the hell that was.

“Dean, I— Thank you,” he mumbles, frowning down at his worn and frayed tennis shoes. Dean revisits his mental note and underlines ‘Get Cas some new shoes’ for the seventh time in as many weeks before even trying to work out what Cas is getting at.

“For what?” he asks.

“For everything,” Cas answers, lifting his head to look Dean in the eyes with his trademark serious stare. Dean has to look away.

“It’s nothin’ man—,”

“Don’t,” Cas interrupts, some strange emotion coloring his tone. “Don’t cheapen this. You don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand what, Cas?”

Dean is too damn tired to pretend to be too macho for wherever this conversation is going. Hell, who knows, maybe this will be good for them. Maybe… Nah, that’s what they call wishful thinking.

Cas heaves a sigh and turns his gaze heavenward before refocusing on Dean with double the intensity.

“This… I’ve never had anything like this before Dean,” he says, gesturing around them to the deserted aquarium. Sam lets loose a muffled snore across the room. “What you and Sam have done for me, no one else… The closest anyone has ever come was Gabriel sneaking me burgers and books and that stopped after he ran away to California.”

“It’s just a trip to the zoo,” Dean tries to brush it off, but Cas glares.

“No, it’s not. Not to me. Dean—,” Cas huffs in frustration, unable to articulate whatever is going through his head. “Dean you were my first friend. In my entire life, you were my first.”

Dean tries not to blush at being referred to as Cas’s first, but he’s afraid he’s unsuccessful. Luckily the shitty lighting and blue hue of the aquarium has his back.

“You and Sam are my only friends, ever, in my entire life.”

The lightbulb clicks and Dean thinks he finally understands what Cas is trying to say.

“Cas, buddy, we can come back next year.”

“Really? Are you sure?” Cas asks, his blue eyes wide and solemn in the dim blue glow of the tank.

“Yeah dude. And the year after that too,” Dean assures him. “We’ll make it a tradition or whatever. Every year we’ll come back and do a day at the zoo, all three of us. Even if we have to drag Sam’s fancy college boy ass down here with us.” _We won’t leave you_.

Cas smiles and his shoulders loosen as unseen tension bleeds away.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We’ve still gotta get the sleeping sasquatch back to the car and he’s a bear when you first wake him up, trust me.”

“Is he a bear or a sasquatch? He can’t be both.”

“Oh shut up.”

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

The months fly by. Sam’s birthday comes and goes. Dean manages to scrape together enough to get Sammy a new desk for his room. It shows up in a box and Dean and Sam spend a night in hell trying to put the damn thing together, but they get it done and it’s miles better than the old rickety thing that Sam’s had since they found it on the curb five years ago. After that, they can’t really afford any big to-do, but they do manage a small dinner at Bobby’s.

Jo and Charlie both come and Dean feels that he’s lucky to have escaped with his life after they team up and tear him a new one for dropping off the face of the planet for five months. Then they turn their combined ire upon Cas, the “cause” of Dean’s prolonged absence from their monthly game night. Dean’s afraid for a minute that they’ll chase him off, but by the end of the night they’re teaching him how to make cootie catchers and playing MASH, so he thinks everything will be okay. Although, the number of sly glances directed at him from their little cluster on the carpet is quite frankly, alarming. Then Cas comes over and apologizes, saying that they are inevitably going to get married and have 12 kids together and live in a shack, but at least they will have the Impala. Dean is still choking on his beer when Cas returns to where Jo and Charlie are rolling around on the floor laughing their asses off.

Jess is there too. Everyone loves her and even Dean can admit that her and Sam are pretty damn near perfect together. She’s sweet and funny and doesn’t put up with anyone’s shit. Ellen, Jo’s mom, sums her up nicely by comparing her to a glass of sweet tea spiked with Fireball. Dean doesn’t think Sam’s cheeks will ever go back to normal after how much he’s been smiling and blushing every time he looks at her. It makes Dean a little sad that things probably won’t work out between them. She would’ve made an awesome sister-in-law.

All in all, Dean would call the night a success. Sam makes out like a bandit. Dean supposes that’s the plus side to having a family that is absolutely terrible at giving gifts; everyone just gives you money to save themselves the trouble. Although Cas gifts him with one of the cootie catchers he made with different IOU options written on the inside and has Sam play to figure out his gift. It turns out to be a trip to the movie theater as soon as Cas saves up enough for it. Sam looks pleased although Dean is a little envious that Cas’s first trip to the movies will be with Sam.

Cas just looks pleased as punch the whole night long at being so readily accepted. Even Ellen, a real hard ass when you’re on your bad side, is immediately taken in with him and demands that Dean stop hiding him away and bring him out to the Roadhouse sometime, her treat. Dean’s not sure what made her think that he’s suddenly Cas’s keeper, but he’s not going to squander the excuse to go out and do something with the guy, especially now it seems everyone wants a little piece of him.

In fact, Dean hardly speaks to Cas the entire night, he’s so busy getting to know everyone else. But anytime Dean starts feeling forgotten or replaced, Cas turns and flashes a bright grin his way, always managing to somehow look surprised at all of the attention he’s getting and Dean’s bitterness shrinks back. Cas is having the time of his life and what kind of friend would Dean be if he spoiled that by acting like a jealous asshole?

Sometime during the night Charlie asks Cas when he birthday is and Dean is shocked to hear that it was back in March. The bastard didn’t even say anything. Sam and Dean trade glances from across the room and with a nod Dean knows they’re in agreement. Cas needs a birthday gift.

It takes a few weeks of discretely searching, but finally Sam and Dean both agree on something and find one that isn’t too outdated and for pretty cheap at a thrift shop. A day later, Cas becomes the proud owner of his very own digital camera. Dean’s not sure exactly when it started, but somehow Cas got his hands on Bobby’s ancient camera and started taking pictures of the most random shit; car parts, an engine, one of the older cars after Dean got it all spruced up again. He tries to be all discreet about it, but it’s not an easy thing to hide when the flash goes off every time he snaps a pic.

The look on Cas’s face is priceless when he delicately peels away the last of the newspaper and sees his very belated gift. Dean thinks for a moment he’s going to cry.

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah we did, Cas,” Sam talks right over the top of him and immediately launches into a description of the camera’s features and specifications and whatever else he learned when he Googled the model. Cas hangs on his every word and Dean gets the feeling that it’s going to be the most well cared for piece of shit camera on the planet.

Cas starts taking even more pictures after that. Still of the random car things, but also a few of the sunset, a bee on a flower, the box of Honey Nut Cheerios for whatever the hell reason, and a candid one of Dean, grease stained, holding a dead spark plug, and mouth open as he explains to Cas how you know when spark plugs need replaced.

Dean has his suspicions and means to ask Cas about all the pictures, the ones of car stuff anyway, but he gets so busy it completely slips his mind.

They suddenly get slammed with new customers like there’s some kind of freak car care apocalypse going on and Dean missed the memo. It gets so busy that Dean has to ask around his other workplaces for people to cover most of his shifts so he can spend more time at the shop helping Bobby keep up. The really weird part is that three fourths of the new customers don’t seem to really know _why_ they brought their car in.

Some of them will stutter something about needing an oil change even though there’s a sticker from Midas on the inside of their windshield stating that they just got one done a month ago. And when Dean tells them as much they insist he do one anyway and offer up some bullshit “I just want to be on the safe side” excuse. But whatever, Dean figures Bobby could use the business and he’s not going to be the one to turn away paying customers just because they’re friggin’ weird.

Speaking of Bobby, Dean hasn’t seen him this… well, not _happy_ (Bobby’s never really happy), but he’s definitely less surly than Dean’s seen him in years. So he grins and turns on the charm and does an insane amount of oil and fluid changes, filter swaps, and tire rotations. It goes on for weeks and by the time things die down a bit (though they still get more business than they did before), he’s forgotten all about the photographs.


	10. Chapter Ten

**_._ **

**_— Castiel —_ **

**_._ **

Castiel just wishes everyone would forget about the photograph already.

He’s so tired of fielding comments on the Facebook page requesting he repost the picture of the “Hot Mechanic” and this time with his number. He foolishly attached a picture of Dean to his post about how to know when your spark plugs are bad and within hours he’d had to take it down because he didn’t feel comfortable leaving a nonconsensual photo on the internet after it had gained so much notoriety. There were also a few comments that Castiel was forced to delete. They were too vulgar to leave on a professional page and listed- in detail- the things they would like to do to Dean, leaving Castiel with flushed cheeks and entirely unable to look Dean in the face for a full week.

Luckily, Dean’s been so busy with the influx of new customers brought in by that stupid picture that he didn’t notice. Charlie definitely noticed something though and Castiel had a hell of a time keeping her away from Dean. He’s just lucky she came through the house before heading out to the garage, allowing him to intercept her and the _printed copy_ of the picture Castiel took of Dean.

Finally, Castiel convinced her to stay away from the shop after explaining that Bobby doesn’t want the Winchesters to know about the Facebook page because he’s too embarrassed. It’s not entirely a lie. He _is_ embarrassed and he definitely would be if he had any idea about the page. Although, the page doesn’t seem to be quite as secret as Castiel thought it was.

“You’re the one that writes the _Daily Idjit_ , aren’t you?” Charlie demands, a sly look in her eye. “I knew it wasn’t Bobby! Jo owes me twenty bucks!”

The _Daily Idjit_ is what Castiel decided to caption the little blurbs he writes every day on different things that can go wrong with your car. He’s written about oil changes, what the different colors of smoke coming out of your tailpipe could mean, and a multitude of other little tidbits he has picked up, including, the infamous “Catching Sparks… Or Not”. That’s when the page really blew up and, along with it, Bobby’s business. All because of that damn picture.

Charlie somehow becomes a regular staple in his office after that day. Once she knows Castiel can write, she shows up at random hours throughout the day and asks him to “beta” her online role play stories in return for her help in setting up Singer Automotive with their very own website. Her stories are… interesting, to say the least. Castiel doesn’t mind proofreading them at all and Charlie makes good company.

It is one such day, weeks later, when Dean walks into the office and freezes in place at the sight they make. Castiel is laying belly down on the floor with Charlie’s notebook splayed in front of him, a pink gel pen between his fingers, while Charlie is perched cross legged in the swivel chair in front of the computer, but neither are paying any attention to their tasks. Rather, they are in the middle of a heated argument revolving around Charlie’s callous _murder_ of a beloved dwarf in her story.

“The angst, Cas.”

“It doesn’t assist the plot in any way, Charlie. There is no literary reason—,”

“But the _aaaangssst_.”

“Uh, I can go, or…”

“No!” Castiel and Charlie shout reflexively. Drawing in a deep breath to cool his rising temper, Castiel closes Charlie’s notebook and moves into a sitting position while Dean continues to hover uncertainly in the doorway and Charlie smiles apologetically. This is the first time in weeks that Dean has stopped by. Usually if Castiel wants to see him he has to stop by down in the shop and steal a scant few minutes of his attention.

“Is it five already?” Castiel asks, tone much more composed than moments ago. Charlie pulls a face and shrugs. Both have been too absorbed in their argument to pay attention to such trivial things as the passage of time.

“It’s almost six,” Dean supplies dubiously.

“Oh shit,” Charlie says and jumps up from her seat, snatching up her things from where they have mysterious sprawled about the room in the few hours she’s been here.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Castiel asks, nonplussed as she swipes her notebook from the floor beside him and then wrestles the pink gel pen from his hand. Castiel relinquishes it reluctantly. He’s come to rather enjoy Charlie’s pens; they roll across the page very smoothly and come in various fun colors. She even has one that only shows up under a black light.

Charlie notices his reluctance and fixes a serious stare upon him.

“Next time I stop by I’ll bring you your own to keep.”

Castiel grins shyly. “The ones with the glitter?”

Charlie shoots an amused look over her shoulder at Dean, standing mystified in the doorway, before smiling back down at Castiel.

“Sure thing, sugar plum.”

Castiel isn’t sure how he feels about the pet names, but they don’t offend him so he just lets Charlie do what pleases her. He gets the feeling his life will be much more peaceful that way.

“Anyway,” Charlie continues, slinging her messenger bag around her shoulder, “I don’t have anywhere to be per say, but I’d rather not infringe upon your bromance time, so I’m gonna bounce.”

“Bromance?” Dean sputters, darting a glance at Castiel that’s gone as quick as it came.

Charlie just grins wolfishly and refuses to elaborate. Dean flounders for a moment more, but then seems to decide that it’s just not worth the effort to decipher exactly what Charlie means and ignores the comment.

“I was gonna ask Cas if he want to watch a movie downstairs. You should stay,” Dean says, casting a questioning look at Castiel. Castiel nods enthusiastically.

“Please?”

Charlie remains unconvinced for a prolonged moment before Dean sells her with a single phrase.

“Cas hasn’t seen Star Wars.”

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

The weeks of horror and mortification after his photo of Dean “goes viral” (to use Charlie’s words) pass slowly, but they do pass and when they do Castiel is pleased to discover that they’ve managed to retain a fair number of new customers. Whether because they simply desire to see Dean more than once or because they received quality service, he couldn’t say.

Because of the new volume of work, Castiel draws up a few checklists and inspection forms for Dean and Bobby to work off of as they jump between projects. It would be a shame if they started losing their newfound customers because things start falling between the cracks with the increased workload. Bobby grumbles about it, but Dean thankfully jumps right into it and even tells Castiel that it’s good idea. The support means more to him than he thinks Dean realizes.

Castiel wanders out to the shop, clipboard in hand and frowning down at the shipping form attached to its face. He _knows_ he told Bobby that they can’t order that high end car wash shampoo anymore and that the knock-off brand is much more economically feasible and yet here it is, arriving in a box via the UPS truck complete with a man with a clipboard requiring a signature from a bona fide Singer Automotive employee.

He finds Dean first, but he’s with a customer so Castiel makes to pass behind him and try to find Bobby.

“I love the _Daily Idjit_! I can’t tell you how many times it’s helped me out of a jam!”

Castiel freezes.

“The what?” Dean asks. Castiel turns wide eyes to the hapless man speaking enthusiastically with Dean and begins makes frantic throat slicing motions behind Dean’s back to get the man to shut up.

“On your Facebook pa—,” the man finally notices Castiel and snaps his mouth shut looking confused. Dean follows the man’s gaze and finds Castiel standing there like a deer in headlights.

“Cas,” Dean intones warningly. Castiel swallows thickly.

“I promised Bobby I wouldn’t tell you,” he blabs, his voice a hushed whisper as his eyes dart about, searching for Bobby’s telltale ball cap. “I wanted to, but Bobby…”

“Bobby doesn’t want me to know about his Facebook page?” Dean asks, face screwed up.

“No! No, I mean…” Castiel sighs and rubs a hand through his hair. “I can’t tell you. But you can’t tell Bobby about the Facebook page! He’ll scalp me and wear it on a string around his neck to intimidate others into obedience.”

“Uh, that was graphic,” Dean mumbles and then shakes his head. “Alright, Cas, look. I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re going to explain as soon as I’m done here, got it?”

Castiel nods mutely.

“Good,” Dean grumbles and then turns back to his very confused customer. Castiel turns to leave but then remembers the clipboard in his hand.

“Oh wait. Would you sign this first?” Castiel asks, shooting the customer an apologetic look. “The UPS man is probably growing impatient.”

Dean stares at the clipboard.

“Uh, why don’t you just sign it?” He asks.

“Because it has to be signed by a representative of Singer Automotive and I’m not—,”

“Dude,” Dean interrupts, a strange look on his face. “Yeah you are. Just sign it.”

“But I’m not—,”

“Close enough man. That’s the reason you do the office stuff now right? So me and Bobby can just focus on the cars? Let us focus on the cars.”

“But Dean,” Castiel huffs.

“Just sign the papers ya idjit,” Bobby’s gruff voice calls from halfway across the room. Castiel glares in that general direction, a spike of fear lodging itself in his gut as he wonders if Bobby overheard them before. He decides not to press his luck and turns and heads back to the house without another word.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

“Alright, how bad is it?” Dean demands before he’s even through the door to Castiel’s office. Castiel slowly lowers his fingers from the keyboard.

“Umm, I don’t know what you’re—,”

“Cut the crap, Cas. I’m not an idiot, you know,” Dean snaps.

Castiel sighs and pushes a hand through his hair, feeling caught. He refuses to blatantly lie to Dean’s face so he might as well come out with the whole truth and be done with it. He’s so tired of all the secrecy and hidden truths and feeling trapped by his word to Bobby. He’s just so tired.

“Yes, I know,” he concedes. “How long have you known?”

“Uh, let’s see,” Dean ponders, a sharp edge of sarcasm coating his tone. “Since that week you were stomping around like a storm cloud cataloging everything Bobby owns?”

“Ah. I see…” Castiel’s heart sinks. Since the very beginning then, or at least, Castiel’s beginning.

“And it didn’t help when you went nuclear when I came in here that one time and you literally threw your stuff on the ground so I wouldn’t see it.”

Castiel flinches. “Dean, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

Dean waves a hand as though to wave away Castiel’s guilt.

“Look, don’t worry about it. I was a little pissed at first, but then I thought about it and figured that Bobby probably threatened you within an inch of your life to not tell me and Sam. He’s a private guy.”

Castiel wouldn’t term it “within an inch of his life”, but he certainly doesn’t want to test Dean’s limits while he’s standing here with mercy in his heart, ready to forgive and forget.

“I’m still sorry. I didn’t want to. These past weeks have been...” Castiel scrubs at a rough stubbly cheek and knows the bags beneath his eyes stand out prominently against his too pale skin. He hasn’t spent this much time strictly indoors in years and it’s starting to get to him, he thinks. He’s gained weight since his arrival, which is good, but he’s starting to lose what little muscle tone he had to begin with.

“Cas, I get it man,” Dean says, filling the void left by Castiel’s incomplete thought. “Bobby can be a real stubborn son of a bitch when he gets something in his head. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

The backs of Castiel’s eyes sting as relief swoops through him, filling him up with so much emotion he chokes on it. He nods for Dean’s benefit, unable to trust his voice not to crack. He doesn’t know what he would have done if he would have lost Dean again over this. Especially so soon after just getting him back.

“How bad is it?” Dean asks, softer now and lowers himself into a spare chair off to Castiel’s right. Castiel swivels in his chair to continue facing Dean and puzzles over how to answer. He doesn’t want to lie, but he doesn’t want to send Dean into a panic either.

“It’s not good,” Castiel settles on. Dean frowns. “It hasn’t been good for a long time, but I think it’s salvageable. The internet presence has helped a surprising amount.”

Castiel feels his face warm as he thinks on what exactly it was on the internet that helped them, or rather _who_. He clears his throat and drops his eyes to his hands carefully folded in his lap.

“What are you not telling me, Cas?” Dean pries, impatience coloring his tone an unpleasant orange. Castiel lifts his head and arranges his face into the most apologetic expression he knows. Dean’s eyes narrow.

“First, I’d like to explain, I didn’t know the repercussions of my actions at the time. I thought it was harmless and I—,”

“Just spit it out, Cas,” Dean orders. Castiel takes a deep breath.

“I posted a photo of you working in the shop on the Facebook page and the internet just... Everyone _lost their minds_. I posted it and by the next morning…” Castiel trails off, shaking his head as the memory of notifications pouring in endlessly illuminates the backs of his eyelids like flashbacks of a gruesome battle. “It was horrible. And now it seems like everyone has your picture and knows where you work and when that first wave of customers came I thought it was the end of everything and I am so sorry.”

The words rush out him leaving him breathless and terrified. His wave of relief came too early, he thinks, as Dean blinks blankly across the room. Dean shakes his head and holds up a hand.

“Hold on. Are you telling me we got bushwhacked with new customers because you put some grimy picture of me on the internet?” Dean asks.

“I have it under good authority that your appearance is ‘hot as sin’ in that photograph,” Castiel divulges direly, intentionally leaving out the more creative ways people had described Dean’s appearance. Dean’s face is a blank mask for two seconds before he cracks and keels over laughing. It is not the reaction Castiel had been expecting.

Great bellowing laughter rips through Dean as he hugs his middle helplessly. If Castiel wasn’t so confused and anxious he might have joined in simply because it’s the type of laughter that catches and spreads without reason. Instead he allows a small smile and waits. Finally, Dean heaves in a few great lungfuls of air and smears the backs of his hands across his cheeks.

“Oh my God, Cas,” he says, still chuckling, but under his own power now. “What else did they say about me?”

Castiel’s cheeks flare red hot and he purses his lips.

“I’d rather not repeat— The internet is a vulgar place, Dean,” Castiel intones severely.

Dean is off again, laughing until he cries, clutching at his ribs in pain and helpless to stop. Castiel feels compelled to continue, if only to fuel whatever joy Dean gets from this retelling.

“My father was wrong about television. It’s the internet he should fear.”

Dean threatens to spill from his seat, no longer able to move air as he silently convulses. Perhaps it is wrong to think so, but Castiel has never seen anyone more beautiful than Dean in this moment, red cheeks, scrunched eyes, tears, lips pulled back to his gums and all. He thinks maybe he could… No.

He’s no good for Dean, he knows it. He’s homeless, first of all. He has no income, no prospects, nothing except what others give him. And then there’s the other problem. Dean makes it no secret that he enjoys sex. He’s even made it quite clear that he enjoys sex with men, but Castiel can’t, _can’t_ do that. He’s never felt any kind of sexual attraction to anyone, ever.

Granted, he hasn’t been given many opportunities for any type of social interaction outside of his father’s house other than while he was living on the streets, but Gabriel assured him that he would know. Gabriel even tested him, showing him pictures of glamorously dressed men and women and Castiel felt nothing. No, that’s incorrect. He could tell who was attractive and who was not, he noticed he tends to favor males, but he felt no desire, not a single urge to touch or reveal more or feel.

Then Gabriel brought out his porn magazines and Castiel grew so uncomfortable that he would not turn past the first page. It was then that Gabriel informed Castiel that he was probably asexual. Castiel was 17 at the time and not much has changed since.

He knows Dean is attractive. He has always known, but as he gets to know Dean —  his personality, his moods, his zest for life — it seems like Castiel notices his outer appearance more. It’s suddenly much easier to become distracted around Dean.

And there is one new thing. He wants to kiss Dean. _God_ , does he want to kiss him. He’s never wanted that before.

Truly, Castiel should tell Dean about his orientation. Even if only to stop himself from starting something he couldn’t ever hope to keep up, he should explain to Dean why they can’t work, that could never work, but Castiel is a coward. He’s afraid of losing Dean again. Dean makes him happy in a way he has never managed to be before in his life. He doesn’t want to lose that, so he says nothing and he waits as Dean straightens and wipes his face and grins with the light of all of the suns in the universe and says,

“God you’re somethin’ else, Cas.”

Castiel doesn’t know whether his heart should swell or break so he simply smiles and changes the subject.

_And you are_ everything _else_.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Castiel steps from the shower and redresses in a clean t-shirt and a pair of very thin flannel pajama pants patterned with AC/DC logos. He thinks perhaps they might have been Dean’s favorites, once upon a time, so he continues to wear them despite the thicker warmer ones that he now owns. Sometimes when Dean sees him in them he gets a strange look on his face that makes Castiel’s heart flutter so he wears them most around him.

On his way downstairs, Castiel decides to go ahead and pull on his new hoodie. It’s an eye searing royal blue, but Castiel loves it because Dean bought it brand new for him. Apparently his trench coat is “unseasonal” and “only perverts wear trench coats in the summer, Cas”. Castiel can’t find it in himself to feel guilty for taking advantage of Dean’s generosity. Not when Dean is on the couch downstairs waiting for him.

Castiel pads barefoot into the front room and finds Dean lounging on the couch with a remote in his hand and a menu screen on the TV for some sort of medical drama.

“What’s this?” Castiel asks, startling Dean who must not have heard him come down. Dean twists around to grin at Castiel, his surprise either forgotten or ignored.

“Dr. Sexy! You’ll like it I think. Sam complains that they don’t do a lot of the medical procedures accurately, but c’mon, it’s a TV show. Wha’dya expect?”

“What’s the point of watching it then?” Castiel asks, settling on the end of the couch opposite from Dean as unease spreads from the pit of his stomach to the very ends of his limbs. Dean gapes at him.

“For Dr. Sexy of course.” Castiel winces.

“Dean, I don’t think—,”

“No, no, no,” Dean cuts him off, sitting up from his reclined position to plead his case. His knee bumps into Castiel’s thigh and Castiel doesn’t move away because he’s very very selfish and a terrible very bad person. “You gotta give him a chance, alright? He’s my favorite right after Batman and Indy and Han. Just one episode and if you still don’t like it then we can turn it off and I’ll never bug you about it again. Please?”

Dean’s eyes are wide and pleading and his bottom lip is stuck out like a pouting three-year-old and apparently Castiel is the world’s biggest sucker as well as a terrible very bad person. He sighs and Dean knows he has won.

Dean starts the show with the understanding that they’ll pause it when the pizza he ordered arrives (as a minor celebration for all of the new customers Bobby has retained) and Castiel is already bored. The medical procedures either very loosely resemble what would be done in real life, or are made up entirely. The characters are only somewhat likeable and none really capture his attention and make him want to connect with them. Then Dr. Sexy and Dr. Piccolo begin undressing in an unused operating room and a sound of disgust escapes from between Castiel’s lips before he can even think to hold it in and he’s forcibly reminded why he stopped taking up Gabriel’s offers to sneak him to movies.

“I know,” Dean intones from beside him, his eyes not leaving the screen. “It’s super tacky, but he’s so damn hot it’s not even funny. And she’s not bad to look at either. Win-win, right?”

Castiel’s lip curls in distaste and he manages to sit stiffly through another few seconds, but then Dr. Piccolo lets out a particularly soulful moan and he just _can’t_. He springs to his feet and only supplies an explanation for the action as an afterthought when Dean looks around at him curiously.

“Water,” Castiel mumbles and then beats a hasty retreat to the kitchen. He hears Dean call after him, but he doesn’t look back or slow down. Once in the kitchen he pours himself a glass of water on autopilot and then frowns down into the glass. Why must television be so overrun with sex? It just ruins everything. He’s been fighting Dean off on starting them of Game of Thrones for months now because of it.

“Cas?”

Castiel flinches when Dean’s voice comes from directly beside him, but he manages not to spill his water. Instead of facing Dean he stalls by taking a long drink.

“What’s up man? I know something’s wrong,” Dean presses and Castiel can feel his concerned gaze boring into the side of his face. Castiel lets his eyes fall closed and sucks in a deep fortifying breath.

“I don’t… Sex makes me uncomfortable, Dean. Even just sex scenes in movies and TV shows.”

Truly, with the amount movies they’ve watched together, it’s a miracle they haven’t run into this before. Perhaps it’s because they’ve only just managed to catch up to modern television and Castiel has managed to guide Dean away from the more obvious movies to contain overtly sexual scenes.

Castiel doesn’t turn to face Dean, instead he holds his breath and waits for the condescending reaction Dean is sure to express. But maybe, just maybe, if he explains and Dean listens, then maybe he will understand. Maybe he won’t care. Maybe Castiel as he is, is enough.

“I don’t get it,” Dean says after a long beat. “Is it because you’ve never had sex before? Because if it is, you could fix that. You’re— I’m not gonna lie Cas —you’re pretty good looking. You could probably have anyone you want if you just put yourself out there a bit.”

Castiel grits his teeth.

“No.”

“I’m serious!” Dean insists before Castiel can continue, completely missing the point, but rushing on regardless. “Dudes, chicks, whatever you’re into, all you gotta do is make a move and then that pesky virginity of yours will—,”

“That’s just the problem, Dean! I am not _‘in’_ to anybody. I have never had sex before because I have never wanted to, not because I was lacking in willing partners,” Castiel snaps, interrupting Dean like he never has before and fixes a withering stare on him. Dean blinks back at him, stunned.

“What?”

“I’m asexual. That means I have no desire to have sex. I don’t like watching many modern TV shows or movies because sex makes me uncomfortable and the media is obsessed with it.”

“You— How?” Dean stutters. “But you’ve never— Maybe if you just tried it once—,”

Castiel slams his glass onto the counter with so much force that Dean flinches and water splashes over the lip onto Castiel’s hand and over the counter.

“I’m tired. I’m going to bed,” Castiel bites out stiffly despite it being hardly past six in the evening. He then all but runs from the room, heading for the stairs to his guest room. His sleeve is wet.

“Cas—,” Dean calls behind him, but Castiel doesn’t stop or turn.

He continues to flee until he is safely on the opposite side of his latched door and then he sinks down to the floor and rests his forehead on his knees. He’s so stupid. How could he have possibly thought Dean of all people would understand? Dean Winchester loves sex and he loves sex with whoever is willing without discriminating based on anything so trivial as gender. It’s probably impossible for someone like Dean to even imagine that someone like Castiel could exist and not be somehow broken and Castiel was stupid for thinking he could.

An aching pressure builds up in Castiel’s chest to the point that it’s painful. He lets out a shaky breath and the first tear falls, closely followed by the second and third and so on. Once they start he can’t seem to make them stop. He was stupid to get his hopes up like he did. He knew he had no chance with Dean, but he had started to hope. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so badly right now if he hadn’t let that little sprout of hope bloom.

The doorbell rings below and a sob escapes from between Castiel’s lips. The evening had such promise. Now though…

He tries to muffle the sobs bubbling up from inside his chest, but they just keep coming, rapidly and with more force until he forces himself to get up, backside numb from sitting on the hard floor too long, to huddle on his bed with his pillow over his face to stifle the unpleasant sounds. The last thing he wants is for Bobby to come investigate.

Just as the thought crosses his mind a soft knock sounds against the door. Castiel screws up his face and leans back until his head thunks against the wall. His breath hiccups in his chest despite how he tries to suppress his sobbing.

“I’m fine, Bobby,” he calls out, trying to will his voice not to shake. It sort of works.

“It’s me.”

Castiel’s heart skips a beat painfully, but he can’t do this right now. His face is covered with snot and tears and it’s just not fair of Dean to be nice when Castiel just wants to hate him in peace for a single evening. It’s not fair.

“Cas, please, can I come in? I was an ass,” Dean says, a tinge of desperation coloring his tone.

Castiel doesn’t want to let him in. He doesn’t want to hear Dean’s apology while his nose is stuffy and his head hurts and his eyes are red ringed, but even less does he want to leave Dean out there and make this whole thing drawn out and more miserable than it already is bound to be. Yes, Castiel is hurt right now and it’s Dean’s fault, but if any of his and Dean’s relationship can be salvaged without Castiel having to sacrifice who he is then he will do it, whatever it takes, even if that means having this conversation while it’s very obvious that Castiel just cried over Dean.

Castiel scrubs his sleeves across his eyes and cheeks and wipes his nose on the corner of his pillowcase before shoving it away against the wall. He sniffs once and clears his throat.

“Come in,” he says. His voice still sounds rougher than usual. There’s a moment of hesitation where Castiel isn’t sure whether he hopes Dean has left or if he hopes the door will open and Dean will be there. Before he can decide the door starts to open and reveals Dean wearing the most hangdog expression Castiel has ever seen not on an actual dog and holding a large pizza box. Ridiculously, the sight of the pizza has Castiel’s eyes welling up again. He turns away and blinks rapidly.

“Oh, Cas,” Dean says with a soft tone that Castiel hasn’t heard from him before. For some reason it rubs him the wrong way.

Castiel straightens his spine and glares at Dean.

“You should show me some respect,” he growls, his voice deep and raspy. “I am a capable adult, not a wounded animal for you to care for in your spare time.”

Dean takes him in with wide eyes and licks his lips.

“No, I know. You can... You’re great, Cas. I just… I brought you your pizza,” he manages to get out and lifts the box a bit like Castiel might have missed it. “Cheese with cheese stuffed crust.” Dean tries for a smile, but it falls flat when Castiel fails to look anything but unimpressed in return. Dean sets the box in front of Castiel on the bed, but Castiel makes no move to touch it, and then, after a moment of deliberation, Dean sits at the foot of the bed with the box separating them.

“I’m such an asshole,” Dean says without preamble and Castiel is a little surprised. He expected more confusion and a demand for further explanation, not this.

“I don’t know why I said those things,” Dean continues, staring down at his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “That was— I was out of line and I should have known better and I am so sorry Cas,” Dean looks up to meet Castiel’s eyes. “I really am. I don’t know… I was surprised I guess and I just… I don’t know. I should have listened and I definitely shouldn’t have said those things. I’m sorry.”

Castiel stares until Dean drops his gaze back to his hands. This is not what he expected.

“How could you have known better?” Castiel eventually asks.

Dean huffs a little and shakes his head. Castiel doesn’t understand what that means.

“That’s the really shitty part, I guess,” Dean says and lifts his head. “I’m— Well, until recently I thought I might be aromantic,” Dean says with a bitter smile. “I didn’t really fit all the criteria, but I fit enough so…” Dean shrugs and clears his throat before he continues. “Thing is, while I was looking into what being aromantic means this other term kept popping up, asexual.” Dean looks away once more, unable to meet Castiel’s unwavering stare.

“Honestly, I thought it was a load of shit. I’m not proud of that,” he tacks on quickly. “I just… I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I thought for sure that they just didn’t know. That no one could decide something like that without giving it a shot or, I dunno. It was a stupid and pigheaded thing to think, but I believe you, Cas. I’m really sorry about the stuff I said downstairs, that was… it was…”

“Belittling,” Castiel supplies. Dean winces, but nods.

“Yeah.”

“Demeaning.”

“Yeah, that, too.”

“Condescending. Patronizing. Disrespectful.”

“Cas, it was all of that and I am so sorry. I wish we could have a do-over because you deserve for me to do it right.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, sitting up a little straighter and sniffing once.

“Yeah Cas?”

“I am asexual.”

Dean is confused for only a brief moment before he smiles a bit and the anxiety clouding his face recedes. He clears his throat and shifts in his perch on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah? That’s cool. So, are you sex-repulsed or just don’t want to do the deed with anyone?”

Castiel blinks a bit in surprise and then realizes that Dean must have gone over this revised conversation a bit before coming up here. Perhaps he even consulted the internet, although Castiel isn’t sure how he had the time. It can’t have been much more than ten minutes.

“I’m not sure,” Castiel admits. “I don’t mind vulgar speaking so long as it is not directed towards me, but seeing others partaking in sexual activities, even if it is only in print or on a television, makes me so uncomfortable I have to leave the room.”

Castiel watches as Dean nods seriously and bites his lip while twisting his fingers together in his lap.

“What about,” Dean pulls in a breath, “touching? Not in a sexual way, but like hand holding or kissing.”

Once again Castiel is surprised by Dean’s perceptive questions and wonders how he ever had the time to put them together.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says honestly. “I’ve never tried. Though, I suppose, with the right person, it could be… good.”

Dean smiles then, a real one and some of the icy shards around Castiel’s heart fall away.

“Yeah? Okay. Umm,” Dean frowns in thought. “I forgot… oh! Right. Uh, I should tell you, since we’re being honest, until recently I thought I might be aromantic. That means—,”

“That you do not desire a romantic relationship with anyone,” Castiel interrupts, impatient now, a strange feeling welling behind his ribs. “What do you mean ‘until recently’?”

Dean chews his lower lip a little before answering.

“Well, see first, you gotta know that I didn’t really fit the textbook definition of an aromantic,” Dean begins.

“It’s a spectrum—,”

“Yeah, yeah it’s a spectrum, so I’ve heard,” Dean interrupts, rolling his eyes a bit. “But see, I’ve always liked the idea of a better half, you know? I liked thinking about starting a family together and having someone that you’re number one for and vice versa. But I—,” Dean frowns, thinking hard. “There was never anyone, in real life that I could even consider dating seriously. So I started to think, you know, maybe I just liked the idea, the _theory_ of romantic love, but in reality it tanked.”

“I see,” Castiel murmurs, almost to himself. It does sound rather complicated and confusing.

“But then, a few months ago actually,” Dean begins and Castiel focuses his full attention on Dean. Their gazes lock. “I met this guy, and I mean yeah he’s good looking, but I meet good looking guys all the time so,” Dean shrugs. “But then I spend a little time with him, enough to start getting to know him and suddenly something in me is just…” Dean trails off, looking pained.

“Dean, you don’t have to—,” Castiel doesn’t get to finish as Dean talks over him, looking determined.

“ _‘This guy’s special’_ ,” Dean says. “That’s what every bone, every instinct in me is screaming. Every speck of intuition I’ve got is just on high alert: _Don’t fuck this up. This one’s special_. And the more time I spend with him, the harder that is to ignore and I want to do things I’ve never given a shit about before. I wanna hold his hand and kiss him and give him a back massage when he gets grumpy and make him lunch and just… stuff that I’ve never even thought twice about before and I just… It scares the crap out of me because I don’t know what’s going on or, or where all this is coming from, but I can’t ignore that gut feeling. _‘This one’s special. Don’t miss this’._ ”

Dean trails off and Castiel doesn’t know what to say.

“Dean I—

“Don’t,” Dean interrupts, shaking his head fiercely. “Don’t say anything. I just… I thought you deserved to know, that’s all. Nothing has to change, I’m not even sure if I _want_ anything to change. I just… I thought you should know.”

Castiel is silent for a long moment during which Dean won’t look at him, opting instead to stare down at his hands as he picks at a loose thread in his jeans. There’s a confused flurry of emotions ricocheting off his insides. He’s overjoyed that his feelings are returned and dismayed that Dean doesn’t want to act on them and relieved that Dean doesn’t want to act on them and there’s fear and… and… it’s all so confusing.

He does recognize longing though. A longing to reach out and connect and be at peace and let his best friend know that they will be okay, that no matter how they get through this, they will in fact, get through it. Whatever it takes.

Castiel reaches out slowly, giving Dean plenty of time to read his actions and pull away. He doesn’t. Castiel gently strokes the back of Dean’s hand with his knuckles before sliding his hand into Dean’s and intertwining their fingers. Dean grips back and Castiel’s heart palpitates in his chest so hard he thinks Dean must feel it in the pulse connecting them.

Dean doesn’t look up, instead he stares down at their interwoven fingers and gives the back of Castiel’s hand a hesitant experimental rub with his thumb. Castiel squeezes back reassuringly. _Yes, this is okay._

Dean looks up then, wonder and uncertainty waring in his eyes. Castiel simply smiles in return and opens the box of pizza. Wherever this goes, it will be enough. He will make sure of it.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**.**

**— Dean —**

**.**

Things change… sort of. There’s just enough of a difference for it to be a positive change while all of the old stuff that was already good remains.

There are touches now; light, soft, unsure. A warm palm on a shoulder, a brush of fingers through hair, a hand cupping a cheek for less seconds than it takes to register it. Every time Cas touches Dean it’s like something is waking up under his skin, coursing through his veins and buzzing just under the surface like it’s been there all along, waiting to be brought to life.

It’s terrifying.

It gets worse when Sam starts taking notice. It happens one of those rare times when it’s Dean who instigates the touch. He doesn’t even think about it, already in motion before he even realizes. He sets Cas’s milkshake on his and Sam’s corner table and his fingers are ruffling through Cas’s hair an instant later. It gets Cas to lift his head and smile up at him before accepting his ice cream and placing his lips around the straw. Over in seconds, but it’s enough.

“You two are disgusting.” Sam’s only half paying attention, slurping his own shake as he frowns at a math problem. It’s only a mumble, obviously meant to be playful, but Dean is struck with an unreasonable bolt of panic. Everything rushes back at once; their surroundings, Sam, the way their touches can be viewed, and Dean’s at _work_ for Christ’s sake.

Dean stuffs his traitorous hands into his pockets and flees back to the counter without another word. He can see Lisa looking in his direction from the corner of his eye, but he pretends like he can’t. The last thing he needs is her cooing over how adorable him and his _not-boyfriend_ are.

Dean stops touching after that. He feels bad because he knows Cas doesn’t understand, hell, Dean hardly understands, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Cas doesn’t seem too upset though. He continues his small touches and Dean selfishly lets him. They sit too close together on the couch, their hips bump as they take turns pouring bowls of cereal at the counter, Cas leans into Dean while they both peer into the engine compartment of an old Chevy as Dean explains how to tell where the coolant leak is coming from for Cas’s next post.

Funnily enough it’s some stupid political ad that gets Dean to pull his head out of his ass. The room is dark, he and Cas are sitting too close on the couch again, thighs touching and sharing body heat when an ad sponsored by a gray haired senator something or other comes on and Cas goes completely rigid.

“Change the channel,” Cas orders, voice too loud in the quiet of the old house.

The remote is on Cas’s armrest. Dean rolls his eyes, but leans across him to grab it anyway.

“I hate these ads too, man,” Dean gripes as he starts scrolling aimlessly through the channels.

Cas is still too tense beside him so Dean gives his ribs a little poke with his index finger. The simple, unplanned touch is all it takes for Cas to sink back into the couch again, somehow closer to Dean than he was before. So close that it starts to get uncomfortable. Dean’s arm is pinned to his side and he feels like he’s going to tip over if Cas leans any harder.

So it’s simply for the logistics of it all that Dean un-wedges his arm from under Cas and drapes it around his shoulders instead. Cas melts further into Dean and releases a barely there sigh that has Dean’s heart beating wildly behind his ribs. He doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t really mean for this to happen. Hell, they’re practically cuddling on the couch where anyone could walk in and see. Well… not anyone, but Bobby certainly could.

But Cas is warm against his side and he feels good there and he seems happy just to lean into Dean and watch this mattress commercial with him because Dean forgot he’s supposed to be looking for something else to watch. Dean gives an experimental rub to Cas’s shoulder and in response, Cas presses his cheek into Dean’s chest, his hair tickling Dean’s jaw as he does so.

There’s something going on with Dean’s stomach. The spaghetti they had for dinner must not be setting right and he feels unnaturally warm. It’s too much. He’s about to make his excuses and leave when Cas shifts against him, turning his face to look once more at the television.

“I didn’t know you were a fan of Spanish soap operas, Dean,” Cas comments idly.

A strange multitude of emotions well up in Dean’s middle at the familiar banter combined with the completely foreign cuddle fest going on, but overall not one of them is bad. At least, not bad enough for Dean to follow through with his plans to run.

“Shut up and watch your stories Cas. You might learn something,” Dean orders, knowing full well he’ll keep his finger poised over the channel button on the remote if anyone even starts looking towards a flat fuck-on-able surface. And he stays.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

It’s a week later that Dean enacts his revenge. Sure, Cas’s reaction to the internet was fucking hilarious, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let him get away with turning Dean into a _meme_ , or whatever it was that Sam called it. Apparently, Sam knew about the Facebook page for weeks without saying a damn thing. Now that Dean thinks about it, Sam probably deserves some revenge as well, but that can wait. Right now it’s Cas’s turn.

Taking the picture is surprisingly easy. Just set Cas in front of a computer and give him ten minutes to get in the zone and you could probably dance the Macarena naked on the desk and he wouldn’t notice so long as you didn’t block the screen. But all Dean needs is a picture.

The first one is too dark and blurry so Dean turns the flash on Bobby’s ancient camera and tries again. It turns out much better. Cas is frowning at the computer, one hand on the mouse, the other holding a pencil mid tap against the desk. His hair is all over, as usual, his lips are a pursed in displeasure, and his face is slightly washed out by the bright screen in the dim room. The photo quality isn’t the greatest, but he looks damn good.

The hard part is luring Cas away from the office, sneaking in, and uploading the picture to the company Facebook page before Cas returns. Dean tried to just do it at home on Sam’s laptop, but couldn’t for the life of him figure out what username and password Cas would choose. So he’s forced into attempting subterfuge.

In the end, Dean manages it flawlessly, if he says so himself. Cas does inventory every third Tuesday of the month, so when Dean sees him sneak into the garage with his clipboard and calculator after everyone else is supposed to have gone home, Dean slips out of his coveralls and sneaks into the house. Ten minutes later he’s logging out of Facebook and tiptoeing back out to the shop.

Cas doesn’t notice for 23 very long, anticipation filled hours. Dean is just packing up his things and resigning himself to another night of hoping Cas doesn’t log onto Facebook while he’s not there when the shop door slams open. He jerks his head up at the sudden crash, but his victorious smile dies before it ever makes it to his lips.

Castiel blows into the shop like a gale, pale faced and wild eyed, his feet bare.

“What did you do? What did you DO?” He demands, not slowing down.

“Cas?”

“Everyone saw it,” Cas gasps, stopping scant inches from Dean’s chest, strangely out of breath and panicked beyond reason. “He— He’s going to find me now. He’s going to find me and punish me and I can’t— I can’t—,”

He doubles over and Dean realizes that Cas can’t _breathe_. In mute horror, Dean watches as Cas drops to his knees, arms hugging his middle as he gasps for air.

“Shit. Cas,” Dean drops to his knees as well, but he doesn’t know what to do from there. Does he touch him? Does he not touch him? Does he talk? Does he shut the fuck up because he’s the one that caused this anyway and the only thing he could do now is make it worse?

“Cas, Cas buddy, breathe.” Such a stupid thing to say. Cas is already trying to breathe. Dean telling him to isn’t going to magically make him able to. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Dean takes a chance, gripping Cas’s bicep and ducking down to see his face. His eyes are screwed shut as though he’s in pain and tears squeeze out between eyelashes to coat his cheeks and drip off his chin.

“Cas look at me,” Dean says. He has to repeat himself twice before Cas opens his eyes.

“Good, good. Now just do what I do.” Dean moves Cas’s hand to rest on his chest and then forces all of the air out of his lungs as Cas watches wide eyed. Cas shakily tries to mimic, but almost immediately starts sucking in again and shaking his head frantically.

“Cas, Cas it’s okay. It’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to you. Try again,” Dean instructs as calmly as he can. Cas looks up into Dean’s eyes and gives a shaky nod before exhaling again.

“Good job. In,” Dean inhales half a breath, “Out, all the way.”

Cas does better on the next one and better again on the one after that. Dean doesn’t know how much later it is when he realizes they’re practically in each other’s laps on the hard cold concrete and he’s getting grease on Cas’s t-shirt and probably cutting off the circulation at least a little in Cas’s arm where he’s still clutching at his bicep. Dean loosens his hold and Cas’s hand immediately flies up to grip his wrist and hold him still.

“Cas buddy it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. Do think you can make it to the house?”

Cas jerks his head in some semblance of a nod and struggles to disentangle himself from Dean. It takes some maneuvering, but they manage to get Cas to his feet and then they both stagger to the house, legs numb from spending so long on the hard concrete. Dean bypasses the kitchen and the living room and takes Cas straight up to his bedroom and helps him into bed. Cas doesn’t protest, his eyelids already drooping and his body sagging.

Dean manages to get him under the covers, dirty feet and all. Cas curls into the fetal position, his face tucked against his knees as small hiccups wrack his frame. Dean is the scum of the earth.

“I’m so sorry, Cas,” Dean whispers, running soothing fingers through dark hair. “I’m so sorry.” There’s a dark hole in Dean’s chest. It was just supposed to be a funny prank. It wasn’t supposed to _break Cas_. Dean is the scum of the earth.

Cas hiccups.

Dean draws his hand away, sure that Cas would rather be alone and sleep, but he doesn’t get anywhere at all before Cas is sitting up, panic written across his face once more and struggling to focus on Dean’s face. Dean opens his mouth, but Cas beats him to it.

“Don’t go.”

Dean crumples.

“I won’t,” he promises. “Budge over, would you?”

Cas scoots to the far edge of the bed and Dean strips out of his stained coveralls and sits in the vacated spot. Without hesitation or shame Cas curls up against Dean’s thigh like a cat and Dean resumes stroking his hair. Cas leans into the touch.

“I’m sorry,” Dean murmurs again. Cas shakes his head, rucking up his hair worse than it already was. Dean attempts to smooth it.

“Please stop. It’s not your fault,” Cas murmurs, barely audible. Dean could beg to fucking differ, but he stops because Cas asked.

Softly, with an air of misery, Cas starts telling Dean about his dad.

His dad is a Big Deal apparently. He’s got a pretty powerful position, lots of influence, lots of weight to throw around, and that’s how he likes it. He works constantly to keep that power and somehow still managed to rule his household with an iron fist. Cas muses that it was probably only possible thanks to his older brothers, Michael and Lucifer, for their utter devotion to their father. That and Cas and Anna’s complete seclusion from the outside world.

They were homeschooled, no TV, no internet, hell, they weren’t even allowed to leave the house without a chaperone. Prisoners in a magnificent cage. When Cas turned 18 he says he could have left. He imagined it frequently, but Anna was only ten and he couldn’t just abandon her in that house. Had Cas left, he wouldn’t have been allowed back. His father didn’t think he was ready for the outside world, he was still rebellious, still defiant and he wouldn’t be allowed to leave until whatever was broken in him had been fixed.

After a few years Cas’s father decided that the thing to fix Cas, to make him good and obedient, must be a woman. It was the only thing he hadn’t tried and it went over about as well as a box of fireworks launched inside a wooden shed.

“My father brought her home and at first I didn’t understand. She was funny and nice and then after she left and dad informed me that the wedding date would be July 24th,” Cas explains, tone dead as his lips form the words. “I panicked. There are many things I would give of myself for me father, but this was asking too much. I outed myself as a gay asexual and in turn my father me from the house.”

Dean sucks in a sharp breath, but doesn’t dare interrupt Cas, afraid that if he doesn’t he won’t finish.

“I had only enough time to grab a few belongings and tell Anna I was sorry.” Cas snorts, face contorting in some fresh pain, or perhaps old. “I had to shout it through her bedroom door before father chased me the rest of the way to the door screaming that I--,” Cas’s voice cracks, “That I was poisoning her, ruining her, just as I was ruined beyond hope of repair.”

“Anna turns 18 in August,” Cas divulges softly. “I promised myself I’d go back for her the second she could legally leave, but August is only a few months away and I have… I have nothing Dean. I have nowhere for her to live I don’t have a job to provide for her and I just… I am the worst older brother in the world.”

Dean shakes his head mutely. He doesn’t know what to say, about any of it, so he continues to play with Cas’s hair and stays silent. What he wants to say is that Cas’s dad sounds like a dick and they should go bust Anna out right now, but somehow he doesn’t think that’ll fly with Cas. He doesn’t seem the type to commit a federal crime like kidnapping and still be able to sleep at night. Besides, Dean has Sam to think about. He can’t be on the run from the law and still get Sammy to school on time.

“We’ll figure it out,” Dean finally replies. They’ve never taken on two people at once, but they can’t just leave her there either. And besides, Bobby’s business hasn’t been so good in years. They could be doing a lot worse.

Cas makes a quiet hum in response and when Dean looks, his eyes are closed. Dean continues to stroke Cas’s hair in what he assumes to be a soothing way and soon enough Cas is breathing deep and slow. Dean slips from the bed.

He’s not sure where to go for a long moment, watching the rise and fall of Cas’s chest through thick warm blankets, then he decides he should go make sure that stupid post got deleted. He gathers up his coveralls and, careful to not let the finicky door slam open, Dean eases from the room and closes the door behind him. The computer is still on and Facebook is still pulled up and there, front and center, is Dean’s post. “You’ve met the grunt, now meet the paper pusher” is the cheesy tagline Dean ended up settling on.

There are like a million notifications, most of them liking the post, but there are about 30 comments on the picture too. Most of them are stupid, people tagging their friends, posting other picture things, and one girl commented “ _I’d like him to push my paper ;)_ ”. What the hell does that even mean? Dean doesn’t have a fucking clue, but at least 49 people do and agree with her.

There’s one comment though that catches Dean’s eye and turns his blood to ice. No one else has liked it or commented back and it’s only one word, “Cassie?” Dean scrolls back to the top and deletes the post before he can do something reckless and stupid like message that guy and figure out who the hell he is and how he knows Cas and threaten him within an inch of his life to keep his mouth shut.

Dean logs out of Facebook and shuts down the desktop while he’s at it. He’s got the feeling Cas won’t be needing it again tonight. Dean hurries out to the shop to put away his coveralls and shut the place down properly. He wonders where the hell Bobby is for a brief moment before remembering that he went out to negotiate the sale of one of their rusty old clunkers that Dean managed to fix up enough to run. It’ll probably only fetch a couple hundred, but hey, they’ll take whatever they can get. Money is money.

Dean hurries through his chores, mind awhirl. Who would even call a dude ‘Cassie’ anyway? He must be a fucking creep or someone from Cas’s fucked up weirdo family. Dean did the right thing, deleting the post when he did. It would just hurt Cas more seeing that shit and… okay so maybe Dean feels a little (a lot) guilty and doesn’t want Cas to know that his fears are completely founded and Dean fucked up so bad. He doesn’t want them to come and take Cas away...

They won’t, he decides. They can’t. Cas is an adult and he likes it here and they can’t make him leave. They can’t. Dean won’t let them.

Dean tries his hardest to believe that, but falls short from the target. He knows that if Cas was given the option to go back to his sister, he would without a single second thought and hell, Dean can’t blame him for that. If there’s one thing Dean knows, it’s the importance of taking care of family. He pretends like he believes it despite everything and goes back to the house.

With some slapped together peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a bag of chips, Dean climbs back up to Cas’s room. He pokes his head in the door only to see that Cas hasn’t moved an inch despite the entire hour Dean has been gone. All Dean can really see is a dark tuft of hair sticking out of the top of the mound of blankets.

Dean approaches slowly, wake him or let him sleep?

He decides to let nature takes its course. He drops down into the spot he vacated before and eats his sandwich. If Cas wakes up then he wakes up, if he doesn’t, Dean is going to eat his sandwich too.

Two sandwiches and several handfuls of chips later, Dean gives up. He rolls up the top of the chip bag, letting it crackle as loud as it wants and Cas doesn’t even twitch. It’s like he’s comatose or something. Dean kinda wants to shake him awake just to make sure he still can. Instead he gathers up his trash and heads back downstairs.

He fluctuates between sitting and pacing before deciding what the hell, and heading to the kitchen once more. This time he makes mac n cheese and when he gets back up to Cas’s room with two bowls he does shake him awake and Cas does wake up. Cas devours the first bowl like a man starving and Dean has to wonder if he skipped lunch again.

Dean takes away the empty bowl and wordlessly hands over the second. Cas takes it slower this time, chewing and swallowing like a normal person. Dean clears his throat three times before finally getting up the courage to talk. Cas just sits there, calmly and patiently eating his food like he doesn’t even know Dean is warring with himself. He never shares this shit. _Never_. Yet here he is, offering it up without even being prompted to.

“My dad, uh, he wasn’t the greatest either,” Dean admits, scratching at the back of his neck and staring down into the empty bowl in his lap rather than look at Cas. “He uh… Well my mom died in a house fire. I was four and I guess my dad kinda died that day too. He was never really _there_ after that. It was just me and Sam and Sam was only a baby, but I did the best I could and-,” Dean shakes his head. He’s already getting off topic.

“Anyway, so I know a little about disappointing dads and being a disappointment to your disappointing dad and uh, yeah,” Dean trails off with a grimace. _Wow. Very articulate. Way to go, Winchester_.

“Do you remember your mother?”

The question comes out of left field for Dean. He didn’t come here to talk about his mom. He’s supposed to be making Cas feel better about his shitty dad. Dean finally looks up at Cas. Cas is sitting there, blankets tangled around his waist, bowl held carefully between two hands in his lap, and his hair actual for real bed head for once. His face is clear and earnest, if a little sad and lost, but his eyes are clear and focused on Dean like he’s the only worthwhile thing in the universe. It makes Dean’s chest feel full and twitchy and it’s a little overwhelming, but he’s getting used to it.

“Yeah,” Dean says, his voice comes out all rough and quiet. Cas nods and his eyes go far away.

“I wish I could remember my mother,” he says with a twist of lips that doesn’t quite turn into a smile.

“It’s… sometimes I wish I couldn’t, but I’m glad I do. Sam doesn’t remember,” Dean answers. There are so many unsaid things hiding behind that simple statement. Sam doesn’t remember. Sometimes he hates Sam for not remembering someone as amazing and important as their mother and sometimes he’s indescribably jealous that Sam doesn’t have her memory hanging over his head for every decision he ever makes in his life. Would mom be proud of her eldest son, bisexual and emotionally constipated and working at McDonald’s? Dean gets to live with always wondering and never knowing.

Cas seems to hone in on this somehow and Dean is once again a bug trapped under a glass for Cas to examine to his heart’s content.

“What happened to your mom?” Dean asks when Cas’s stare becomes too much.

“I don’t know.” Cas finally breaks and looks away, down to the bowl in his hands. “I don’t know anything about her or if my siblings and I even share the same one. Whenever we’d ask, my father would simply tell us that we were gifts from God and to stop questioning God’s generosity. Miracles, he called us. Sometimes I wonder if he smuggled us out of hospitals in the middle of the night and maybe I have two loving parents out there missing me. I was eight when Anna came. He just brought her home one day and introduced her as our baby sister, a miracle.”

_Fuck_. Dean’s got nothing, absolutely nothing to say to that heap of shit. His hatred for Cas’s father doubles and he makes a silent promise to himself that if he ever meets the bastard he’s going to clock him in the nose. Maybe more than once. For now, he just settles his hand on Cas’s shoulder and hopes that it’s enough. Judging by the way Cas leans his face down to rest his cheek on the back of Dean’s hand, he thinks he might be on the right track.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

After what Dean has taken to calling “The Facebook Incident”, Cas is back to being just as jumpy and paranoid as he was when he first arrived. Back then Dean didn’t really notice so much, but now, now that he _knows_ Cas, it’s painfully obvious.

The first week is the worst. It starts making Dean paranoid. Every time there’s a rumble of an engine coming down the drive to the house, Cas hurries to peer out the window and Dean holds his breath, absolutely sure that this time it’s going to be that guy from the comment section, here to take “Cassie” back home. It never is. It’s either Bobby or a customer, or one memorable time, it’s Sam walking into the house after getting dropped off by Kevin’s mom and he looks at them both like they’re crazy when Dean automatically moves to shield Cas before he can check the reflex, but blessedly doesn’t say anything.

It reaches its peak one day when Dean walks into the kitchen and about gets a fist to the mouth for surprising Cas. Cas’s face crumples into to a look of absolute horror and he keeps repeating “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” as he runs away back to his office and refuses to come out for the rest of the day. Even when Dean offers to watch a two-hour documentary about lionfish on Animal Planet with him.

Eventually Dean leaves him be and from then on things start to get better. Sort of. He’s less jumpy, but he’s more withdrawn, quiet. He won’t go out with Sam anymore and Dean’s really starting to miss seeing them around while he’s working. Sometimes Sam will come out by himself, but he never stays as long and Dean doesn’t blame him for it.

Instead of rushing to the window, every time a car pulls up Cas goes completely still until they step from the car and he hears a voice or Bobby shouting about being late for an appointment. Then he goes lax, but Dean can never tell if it’s from relief or disappointment. He wonders if Cas can tell either.

By the end of the second week, Dean thinks Cas is finally starting to pull himself together. Dean manages to convince him to marathon Avatar with him and Cas gets totally into it. Dean should’ve thought of it sooner really. Cas starts to… well, not smile (Cas really isn’t much of a smiler, though he’s gotten better), but he starts looking less dour, not so freaking constipated. He eventually stops watching out the window and no one gets punched in the kisser for walking up behind him and Dean thinks that they made it out of his colossal blunder relatively unscathed. He should know by now that good things just don’t happen. What can go wrong, will go wrong, as is the law of the Winchesters.

“Hey, aren’t you the hunkie mechanic from the internet?”

Dean about crowns himself on the hood of the car he’s tucked up under trying to face the guy. He hadn’t paid much attention to him when he rolled up out of the blue asking for a simple tune up after his long drive in from California. He certainly hadn’t pegged him as one of _those_. The guy is kinda short, leaning back against the grill of a rusty Ford pickup, twirling a lollipop between his lips like he doesn’t have a care in the word, but his eyes immediately belay that impression.

They’re sharp and focused, fixated on Dean like he’s searching for a weak spot to hit as soon as Dean lets his guard down, or like he’s a meal to be devoured. Either way, the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck are at attention and he’s on high alert.

“So what if I am?” Dean says, casual as can be as he wipes grease covered fingers on an equally dirty shop rag and tries to covertly calculate how fast he’d have to move to get between the guy and the house. The guy is definitely short, but he’s wiry and probably fast and in Dean’s experience the smaller fighters tend to be the dirtier fighters. Dean just can’t figure out what the hell the guy wants with him. Usually they come, they gawk, they stutter, they leave. This guy isn’t gawking.

The guy rolls his shoulders his shoulder and stands up, looking casually about the shop.

“Oh no reason,” he smiles at Dean, all sharp teeth and venom before he resumes looking around. “Wasn’t there another hottie that works here? His picture got pulled pretty fast. Made me wonder why it got put up in the first place.”

“Cas?” The word punches out of Dean and his heart stops in his chest when the guy’s smile falters and he returns to staring Dean down with an intensity Dean has only really experienced with Cas himself.

“He is here then. Where? The house?” The guys sugary tone has been replaced with ice.

Dean’s eyes dart up at the house before he can stop himself and in a blink the guy is sprinting out the open garage door towards the back kitchen door, lollipop abandoned on the floor. Dean jets after him, but damn, the guy is quick.

“Hey!” Dean bellows, his heart pumping disproportionately fast. He’s not going to catch him. He’s too fast. Dean just prays that he doesn’t try to hurt Cas. The guy slams through the door and disappears from sight. Dean barrels in after him just in time to see him dart up the stairs. Dean curses under his breath and follows.

He finds him frozen in the doorway to Cas’s office and doesn’t hesitate to grab him by the back of his collar and slam him into the wall opposite the door hard enough to knock all the air from his lungs. Dean pins his there and snarls in his face.

“You stay the fuck away from him.”

“Dean,” Cas’s voice calls behind him. Dean doesn’t turn away while he addresses Cas.

“Who the hell is this guy? You know him?”

“Call off your guard dog, Cassie,” the guy demands breathlessly and Dean drops the front of his shirt like he’s been electrified. The comment on Cas’s picture. This is that guy. What the hell was his name…

“Gabriel,” Cas says from immediately behind Dean.

“Wait,” Dean says, a memory coming back to him suddenly after hearing the name spoken with Cas’s voice. “The burger guy, Gabriel?”

He looks over to Cas to confirm. Cas is pale and wide eyed and staring at Gabriel like he’s a ghost, but he nods in response to Dean’s question and Dean finally feels he can take a step back and release Gabriel from the wall. Cas takes a step back as well and his face transforms from shock to a strong mix of too many things to track.

“Where have you been?” Cas asks, voice flat.

Gabriel huffs a shaky laugh.

“Where have _I_ been? Cassie, you had me worried sick! I thought you were dead! Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you can’t just run away from your problems?” The way he says it makes it sound like some kind of inside joke, but Cas doesn’t look amused.

“I didn’t run away,” Cas says.

“Well no offense,” Gabriel says to Dean before turning back to Cas, “but this shit hole isn’t really your daddy’s style and Uncle Novak never let you off the leash or out of the nanny’s sight so it’s looking a helluva lot like you turned tail and _ran_.”

_Novak_. The name tickles something in the back of Dean’s mind. He knows that name from somewhere. For some reason it reminds him of watching TV with Cas. He tucks it away to think about later, happy just to finally know Cas’s last name.

“You would know all about running, wouldn’t you Gabriel,” Cas bites out and then immediately looks ashamed, but the comment hits its mark and Gabriel flinches back.

“I’m sorry, Cassie. I had to get out of there.”

“Why didn’t you tell me where you were going? Why didn’t I deserve more than a note talking about California and a pipe dream? I looked for you.”

Gabriel winces again and then seems to just shove it all away and re-adopts the devil may care attitude he first arrived at the shop with. He leans back against the wall and stuffs his hands in his pockets and Dean recalls the lollipop laying cracked on the worn cement of the garage.

“So if you didn’t run, how’d you end up here?”

“He kicked me out.”

“Why?”

Cas hesitates and then, “I don’t know.”

 Gabriel laughs.

“You don’t know? I always knew you were stubborn Cassie, but I didn’t realize you were stupid or a liar.”

Cas glares at Gabriel and Dean wants to punch him in his stupid fucking face.

“You shut the fuck up about stuff you don’t—,”

“It might have been because I refused the betrothed he selected for me,” Cas talks over Dean, voice unbending and ruthless. “Or perhaps because I informed him that due to my asexuality I would not be continuing the Novak line, or possibly because I told him I was gay in addition to everything else. Or maybe it’s simply because I finally told him exactly what I think about his archaic lifestyle and the way he bullies other people and hides behind God as an excuse. _I. Don’t. Know._ ”

Gabriel is speechless and Dean’s right there with him. Holy hell, Dean knows it’s completely inappropriate, but _damn_ , that was hot.

“I— Anna didn’t tell me that,” Gabriel finally says. Cas sighs and the fire in him dims to a simmer.

“She didn’t know. He wouldn’t let me—,” Cas voice cracks and he shakes his head. “When did you see Anna? Is she alright?”

“I uh, yeah,” Gabriel shrugs a bit. “It was about a year ago, I went back and… it was like you’d been erased, Cassie. It was creepy as hell and Anna said that one day she woke up and you were gone and your dad refuses to talk about you, just like after Lucifer went to prison.”

Cas huffs and a bitter twisted smile graces his lips.

“Glad to know that homosexuality is on par with being a psychotic serial killer in dad’s book,” he mutters.

Dean scoffs and mutters, “I dunno what else you could expect when you name your kid after the devil.” Cas laughs and it takes both Dean and Gabriel by surprise, cutting through the tension. Gabriel turns narrowed eyes onto Dean, paying him proper attention for the first time since the garage.

“And who the hell are you, pretty boy?” Gabriel asks, a smirk twisting his lips. He looks Dean up and down, taking in his dirty coveralls with the sleeves tied, hugging his hips and the clunky work boots currently staining Bobby’s old thin carpet.

“None of your fucking business,” Dean simpers at the same time Cas says,

“Dean.”

Dean glares at him and Cas just quirks an eyebrow. Dean rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. Gabriel raises his eyebrows and let out a low whistle.

“He’s got you _whipped_ ,” he says to Dean. Dean scowls, but says nothing. Now that the initial confrontation is over with, Cas actually seems happy to see Gabriel.

“How is Anna now?” Cas changes the subject. “He hasn’t tried to arrange a marriage for her, has he?”

“Oh, Anna’s fine,” Gabriel says, waving a hand dismissively before rummaging through his pockets and pulling out an acid green Jolly Rancher. He pulls the wrapper off and pops it in his mouth before continuing. “After I found out you were gone, we snuck her out and got her emancipated and she came to live with me. She had actually already started the process behind his back,” Gabriel chuckles. “Your daddio didn’t even put up a fight. As long as the court sealed the records and the media wasn’t told, he practically _paid_ to get her out of his hair. No wait, he literally paid to get her out of his hair because he paid all of the court costs. Fucking pathetic if you ask me.”

“So she’s safe?” Cas presses.

Gabriel’s expression softens. “Yeah man, she’s safe with minimal emotional scarring as far as I can tell. She’s actually going to go to some fancy pants art school next month. Full ride.”

“She still draws?” Cas asks, his expression far away and kind of watery. Dean gives his shoulder a squeeze and Cas gives him a warbly smile

“God, you two are sickening,” Gabriel rolls his eyes and pushes off the wall with all the grace of a sleep deprived two-year-old. “You got any food in this joint? I’m starved and that was my last Jolly Rancher.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

**_._ **

**_— Castiel —_ **

**_._ **

“Dean, I need to talk to you.”

Dean immediately rolls out from under the Tahoe and climbs to his feet, obviously trying to keep his face blank, but the concern shines through no matter how hard he tries and Castiel feels terrible for putting it there.

“You’re leaving,” Dean says, tone dead. Castiel opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He clears his throat and tries again.

“I applied for a position at the library,” he confesses, wringing his hands and searching Dean’s expression for… something. Whatever it is, he doesn’t find it, so he keeps talking. “I haven’t heard back yet, so it’s not set in stone but Mrs. Nelson seemed fairly pleased and said she would put in a good word and that she loves when Sam and I come in because we clean up after ourselves. But there’s still a chance that they won’t—,”

“You’re staying?” A confusing range of emotions flicker through Dean’s features, but in the end they settle on something that, to Castiel, resembles hope.

“If I’m welcome to. If I get this job I won’t be able to work full time here, but I will still manage the social media and—,”

“You’re not going with Gabriel?” Dean interrupts, taking a step closer. Castiel frowns. Gabriel has been staying on Bobby’s couch for a week and is preparing to head back to California and his moderately successful bakery later today, but Castiel never once entertained the idea of going with him. His place is here, he’s sure of it. If only they will keep him.

“No. There’s nothing for me in California,” he says slowly.

Dean frowns.

“But Anna—,”

“Is going to university in Chicago in a month and it wouldn’t make any sense at all for me to move out to California only to end up being farther away from her once she does.”

“I— Oh,” Dean says, like it was the very last thing he was expecting to hear. Castiel looks back at the past week in a new light and realizes that Dean has been pulling away this entire time. He’d been too wrapped up with Gabriel’s unexpected appearance to notice. And then Gabriel started asking questions: Where has Castiel been? How did he end up here? What’s going on with him and Dean? Why isn’t he working at a job that actually makes money?

The last two stumped him and while he can’t do anything about labeling what he has with Dean, the last was rather simple once he thought about it. The library is the only place he can envision himself. He can talk about books to strangers and no one expects a library assistant to have strong social skills. So this morning he took the bus down and filled out an application on a whim and then promptly had doubts that he would be allowed to stay with Bobby should he be no longer providing him with a service.

“So you’re not leaving?” Dean asks again and Castiel can’t help the small smile that tugs his lips.

“No. Not if you’ll still have me.”

Dean drops his head to stare down at his shoes before clearing his throat and looking up again, whatever emotion that was close to slipping out now carefully tucked away once more.

“I’ve told you before, Cas. You stay as long as you need to.”

“But Bobby—,”

“Bobby can kiss my ass,” Dean interrupts fiercely.

“Ooo kinky.” Gabriel strolls into the garage, a bag of popcorn tucked under one arm and a can of soda held loosely in the hand not currently rooting around the bag. It’s part of the reason he’s not allowed to stay any longer, he never seems to stop eating and Bobby threatened to dismember him and bury him in the field out back if he came inside to the kitchen all pulled apart and covered in flour _one more time_ , no matter how good the resulting pastries are. Castiel also wonders if maybe Dean has something to do with Gabriel’s departure. After a chance encounter, Gabe met Sam and took quite a shine to him and Dean’s already icy tolerance towards Gabe turned to glacial dislike.

Dean and Gabe had a private conversation after that and Dean came out more furious than Castiel has ever seen him (excluding perhaps the first day Gabriel arrived when Dean threw him into the wall thinking he was trying to hurt Castiel) and Gabriel was smirking, but pale. All in all, it didn’t seem to accomplish much other than to solidify the dislike brewing between the pair. Castiel would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little relieved that Gabriel would be leaving today.

“What the fuck do you want?” Dean snarls. Gabriel lifts his eyebrows in manufactured surprise.

“Oh? I just wanted to tell my dear sweet cousin goodbye. Is that a crime now too?”

Dean grinds his teeth, but Castiel intervenes before it can turn into a brawl.

“Are you leaving now?” He asks.

“Aww cuz, you’re not trying to get rid of me too, are you? Eager to get back to our happy little role of kept man?” Gabriel winks at Dean and Dean takes a threatening step forward. Castiel moves between them, and Dean’s chest bumps into his shoulders blades.

“Yes,” Castiel replies, uncaring of whatever innuendo Gabriel tried to place on the words. Gabriel cackles and Cas can feel Dean shift uncomfortably behind him. He will apologize later. For now, he would just like to see his cousin off without bloodshed. “Are you packed?”

Gabriel wipes away an imaginary tear with the tip of his finger and flicks it away.

“Yeah, yeah I’m all squared away. Just need a goodbye hug from my favorite angel,” Gabriel announces before wrapping Castiel up in a boisterous, but thankfully short-lived hug.

“And my favorite guard dog!” Gabriel only makes it half a step toward Dean before Dean makes such a menacing face that even Gabriel falters before fixing up his smile and stepping back.

“Next time,” he promises, pointing a finger gun at Dean and taking another step back. Towards his car Castiel hopes. “Give Sammy my love!” He calls over his shoulder just before slipping out of the garage.

Dean growls and goes after him, but Castiel stops him again with a hand to his chest.

“Just let him go. Thankfully Palo Alto is half a country away from Kansas,” Castiel soothes quietly, knowing if Gabriel overhears him he’ll rush back to stroke the flames some more. Dean seems to relax at the reminder and lets out a harsh breath. Castiel is fairly sure that they are standing well within each other’s personal space, each breath bringing their chests within an inch of brushing, but neither move away.

“So you’re staying?” Dean asks after several long seconds. Castiel smiles and taps the back of Dean’s hand with his index finger.

“Yes Dean. I’m staying.”

“Oh. Good.”

They stand together in silence and listen as Gabriel’s car fires up and crunches gravel as it turns around. The sound fades as he gets farther away and they hear two short honks that Castiel figures are a farewell meant for him and then he’s gone.

A door creaks open behind them and Bobby emerges furtively. Dean moves back, taking his body heat with him.

“Is he gone?”

“Yeah Bobby.”

“Thank God,’ Bobby effuses and then turns to Cas pointing a stern finger. “Boy, next time someone from your crackpot family comes to visit, you give me a warning so I can get the hell outta dodge. You hear?”

Castiel opens his mouth to argue that Gabriel’s arrival was just as much a surprise to him as it was to anyone, but Dean elbows him in the ribs and Castiel bites back the words.

“Yes, Mr. Singer.”

Bobby scowls and Dean turns away in a sudden coughing fit. Castiel just stares politely back until Bobby breaks and stomps back to his office muttering under his breath about that being his daddy’s name.

“Dude, you have gotta stop doing that,” Dean whispers as Bobby slams his office door shut behind him, but he’s grinning with delight. Castiel shrugs.

“I will call him by his desired name when he calls me by mine. I am not ‘boy’ or ‘idjit’.”

Dean shakes his head.

“You’re gonna be at it forever then.”

“So be it.”

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

In the wake of Gabriel’s visit they are all much quieter than usual, savoring the empty spaces between conversation in memory of the week where there were none. While Castiel loves his cousin, he truly believes that the expression “absence makes the heart grow fonder” was written with Gabriel in mind.

A week later, Gabriel’s visit is driven completely from Castiel’s mind by a phone call. He’d been working upstairs when Bobby yelled from the kitchen that the phone was for him. The phone is _never_ for him unless it’s Sam and Sam doesn’t call during the work day. Castiel’s heart is beating double time as he answers the phone and by the time he hangs up he swears it has stopped in his chest.

“Well?” Bobby demands from the doorway where he’s leaning against the door jam, impatience scrawled across his bearded face. “Somethin’ you wanna tell me, son?”

Castiel shakes his head as though it’ll clear the fog of panic suddenly clouding it.

“I umm. They want to hire me. At the library,” he says. “But I understand if you need—,”

“Boy you ain’t gotta feel guilty to me about movin’ on with your life. I did just fine before you got here, I’ll do just fine after you leave,” Bobby gripes. Castiel could beg to differ, considering the state his business was in at that time, but he’s in too much shock to argue the point so he shakes his head again. He has a job. He starts next week. _He doesn’t know how to have a job._

“Oh. Of course. I just— Okay.” His words aren’t making any more sense out loud than they are in his head. He turns to go… somewhere. He doesn’t know. He wants to tell Dean. If he could just talk to Dean, Dean could tell him how to have a job. Dean has _three_. Unfortunately, it’s a double day, opening the coffee shop and closing McDonald’s so Dean is inaccessible and Sam is probably with Kevin, enjoying their last summer as high schoolers as much as they can or perhaps with Jess, making the most of their time together before she has to go to Stanford.

“I’m real proud of you.”

The gruff words make Castiel stop in his tracks. He blinks up at Bobby, dumbfounded.

“I— you what?”

“Don’t make me say it again you idjit,” Bobby complains, pulling a face.

“Oh, of course.” Dazed and bewildered, Castiel makes for the door, not even sure where he’s going. Maybe he’ll walk around in the field in the back. There are a lot of wildflowers there this time of year. It’s really very pretty.

“Cas.”

Castiel turns slowly, sure he’s hearing things, but Bobby’s still there in the doorway and looking him dead in the eye.

“I mean it. You’re shapin’ up just fine,” he says, gentle as Castiel has ever heard him. His heart swells in his chest, the simple words filling a void he hadn’t realized was there and making his throat tight. He can’t speak for a moment so he nods.

“Thank you, Bobby,” he eventually manages and then slips out the door, his head a little clearer and the panic held at bay with the warmth of pride, such a foreign feeling, warming his very bones.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Castiel’s first day at the library goes exceedingly better than he’d imagined. Equipped with Dean’s crash course on “How to Not be a Complete Schmuck” and Sam’s willingness to answer every mundane “what if” that popped into his head, Castiel steps into the library feeling _almost_ prepared and _very nearly_ confident in his own abilities. When he steps back out it is with relief and foreboding in equal measure, knowing he survived the day, but also that he has to come back and do it all again tomorrow.

Then he notices the Impala sitting in the parking lot in all of her gleaming black glory. Castiel would recognize her anywhere, even without Dean leaning against the hood trying not to look worried. Castiel smiles just seeing him after such an emotionally trying day and without a second thought falls against his chest and drops his forehead onto his shoulder. He can feel Dean’s surprise, but he does away with it fairly quickly and wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel murmurs into his shirt. Dean chuckles a little, it comes out stilted.

“Hey you. You’re kinda freaking me out. Was it that bad?” Dean whispers past his ear, his voice creating a comforting rumble in Castiel’s chest. Castiel sighs, closes his eyes, and breathes in a scent that is uniquely Dean once you get past the lingering coffee sent, which Castiel doesn’t exactly mind.

“It was wonderful. Everyone—,” he stops and corrects himself. “My _coworkers_ were very friendly and helpful and the patrons were very forgiving of it being my first day and a little girl said she liked my tie so I told her that I liked her hijab and her mother was so pleased.” Castiel sighs, a small smile curving his lips. “But I am exhausted.”

Dean chuckles a bit and rubs his back.

“Good. Working with customers or _patrons_ or whatever always takes more out of you than people expect, but you’ll get used to it and you won’t be so tired all the time. You’re gonna be great, Cas. Trust me.”

“I do.”

Dean’s rubbing falters and Castiel wonders if he’s done something wrong, but then it resumes again and he lets the worry go. He’s too tired to second guess his actions anyhow.

“You hungry?” Dean asks after a long moment.

Castiel would love nothing more than to stay here in Dean’s arms, warm and cared for as the sun sinks below the horizon line, but his stomach growls at the mere thought of food. Dean laughs and pushes him back by his hips, ignoring his pout in favor of shoving him towards the passenger side of the car.

“Go on. There’s dinner waiting back at Bobby’s, then we can relax on the couch as long as you want.”

Castiel squints at Dean, partly because his eyelids don’t want to stay up and partly because he wants to ensure Dean isn’t fibbing.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The drive doesn’t take long, though it’s long enough for Castiel to fall asleep. Dean drives with the windows down and the warm summer evening air buffeting about the interior of the Impala soothes Castiel like nothing else. Dean nudges him awake and he trips into the house, aiming for the kitchen on autopilot. He passes the doorway and an explosion of noise assaults his ears, waking him right up.

The room is full to the bursting and a cursory glance reveals Bobby, Sam, Jo, Ellen, and Charlie surrounding the table laden with Bobby’s burgers and Ellen’s homemade macaroni salad that Castiel fell in love with over Sam’s birthday gathering. Castiel turns around to find Dean grinning at him.

“Surprise,” is all he says and Castiel’s heart runs over and maybe it’s just the exhaustion talking but Castiel has never wanted to kiss Dean more than in this moment.

“Ugh would you two stop with the staring and get in here?” Sam’s voice complains.

“Yeah the food’s getting cold,” Jo adds loudly.

“You guys, they were totally gonna kiss.” Charlie’s whisper carries and Castiel drops his gaze as he feels himself turning red.

He soon gets swept up into the merriment of the room and doesn’t notice the large banner exclaiming “Congratulations!” until midway through the meal, much to the hilarity of his guests, who are, apparently, all here for him to celebrate his first day at his first legal job. It’s surreal and maybe he’s just over tired, but he feels like he’s on the brink of tears the entire night. He’s never had a party before, not even a birthday celebration unless you count he and Anna sitting on his bed, quietly swapping stolen snacks from the kitchens. He doesn’t know how to handle a room full of people all here to celebrate _him_.

He tells Sam as much during a quiet moment between burgers and ice cream sundaes and Sam just smiles and pats him on the shoulder and directs him over to Dean on the couch. Castiel collapses beside him and doesn’t quite manage to mask his surprise when Dean throws an arm around his shoulders and passes him the remote.

Castiel doesn’t want to disappoint the group by selecting something boring, so he settles on Comedy Central only for Dean to scoff and snatch away the remote and turn it to the History channel. Castiel smiles sheepishly, fighting the heat creeping up his neck and Dean just rolls his eyes and settles back into the couch to watch How It’s Made.

Ellen brings out a sundae for him and tells the others to get their own. Everyone grumbles good naturedly and Castiel mourns the loss of Dean’s arm around his shoulders, but takes solace in his ice cream. Dean is back within the minute with Jo screeching at his back about how slow and painful his death will be for cutting in line.

Castiel ends up squished in the middle of the couch, with Dean pressed against one side and Charlie on the other with Sam on the floor at their feet and Jo across the room in the armchair intermittently throwing skittles at Dean and sometimes hitting Castiel by accident. Charlie and Sam fight over the ones that stray into their territory, unless they’re green then Sam just let’s Charlie have those because “the limes ones were way better than the green apple could ever hope to be”.

Castiel doesn’t think he will ever stop being grateful for his friends and he doesn’t suppose he could have ever found better ones, even if he had picked them himself rather than the other way around.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

For years, Castiel has envisioned how he would go about “rescuing” Anna, what he would say, what he would ask. It was always about saving her and making up for abandoning her in the first place. Simply visiting Anna at college is an entirely different beast. She doesn’t need saving anymore, she’s seen to that herself. There’s nothing at all that Castiel can do for her and nothing that needs to be fixed. All he has to offer is himself and he’s not sure it’ll be enough. How could he be? What does he bring to the table?

He doesn’t have a place to live, he has next to no money, he’s only had a paying job for a month and while that’s going rather well, it means that he has no savings and no security beyond the kindness of friends. The only reason he has to see her is to see that she’s safe with his own two eyes and maybe apologize and to finally know once and for all whether or not she hates him for not being there for her.

“Uh Cas? Are you gonna knock?”

The Anna he remembers was 13 and loved to paint with her fingers and play the violin obnoxiously until the nanny couldn’t take it a minute longer and stepped out leaving Castiel free to raid the kitchen. He doesn’t know the Anna who is 18 and in college and she doesn’t know him.

“D’you want me to knock?”

He isn’t the same person he was when he lived in his father’s house. He is in equal parts quieter and louder. Living on the streets for half a decade left its mark, but so have these past months with Dean. He has become a strange combination of scarred and battle worn and soft and coddled. He doesn’t think _he_ would recognize the person he has become; how could he expect her to?

Oh and imagine how unimpressed she will be when she learns that he’s been homeless and living off the scraps left behind by others for all these months. He knows all about the lavish luxury she grew up with and he sees much of the same decorating these halls where she will attend college and learn and grow as a young woman. He knows his place is not here. Maybe once it could have been, but not now and never again.

Warm fingers thread through the empty spaces between Castiel’s and squeeze firmly. He blinks and the door before him comes back into focus. It’s decorated, as most college dorm doors are, and it surprises Castiel that he can still recognize the touches added by Anna. It’s her handwriting on the whiteboard, a quote about new beginnings.

There’s a sketch, a flower growing from a barren mound of dirt and if you squint you can see the little pill bug huddled at the base of the flower. It’s an old picture. Castiel remembers joking that he was the bug and Anna was the flower and she bloomed despite their absent father and lacking childhood. She laughed and told him that it was the other way around. It was always Castiel who shielded her from the worst of the rain and soaked it all in and turned it into something beautiful.

What would she think now?

“You gotta knock sometime, dude,” Dean whispers in his ear as a group of girls in running clothes breeze by them in the hallway. Castiel doesn’t notice their suspicious stares. “We’re in an all-girls dorm man. They’re going to think we’re creeping on someone.”

There is logic in Dean’s warning. Castiel raises his fist to knock and then hesitates and lets his hand fall back to his side. Dean releases a gust of air.

“What if she hates me?” The words leave Castiel’s throat raw in their wake.

“She’s your sister,” Dean reassures, more calm than he has any right to be.

“I abandoned her. She’d have every right.”

“Your _dad_ did that,” Dean retorts with surprising intensity.

“I could have—,”

“Cas, if you’d had any choice of your own would you have stayed or left?”

“Stayed of course, but—,”

“And if you’d had your way, what would you have done to keep Anna safe?” Dean continues, headless of Castiel.

“Anything,” Castiel replies, the word catching in his throat. “Everything.”

“See? So knock and introduce me to your sister,” Dean commands.

“But—,”

Dean throws his head back and groans before moving to stand in front of Castiel, a hand on each shoulder and gripping him tightly, his face grave and intense as his green eyes bore into Castiel’s. This close Castiel can count his freckles.

“Listen up. I know I ain’t exactly the poster boy for a wholesome fulfilling childhood, but that just means I know a thing or two about the kinda shit deadbeat dads can make their kids think is on them. And dude, your dad is a manipulative, controlling asshole. Even if you would have gone along with that whole fucked up marriage thing there would have been something else after that and then another thing after that and it would always be something bigger, something worse, demanding you give up more of yourself and all of the unique bits and pieces that make you _Cas_.

“And you would have fallen further and farther down that black hole until you couldn’t find your way back out. Trust me. There is no ‘winning’. Nothing will _ever_ be enough, even if you give it your whole self. You did everything you could and then he gave you an ultimatum with only one real choice and you chose it, Cas. You can’t second guess that.”

It feels like too much and not enough all at once. Like Dean bared his soul, all of the dark fractures and the frayed edges and worn patches where the light filters through the brightest, but even that wasn’t enough to erase Castiel’s doubt. The words hang in the air between them and Castiel wants so badly to smooth the insecurity from Dean’s face and reassure him that anything his father made him do could never turn Castiel away, but he’s frozen, bound in place by the vehemence of Dean’s faith in him.

“Are you going to knock or what? Nice speech by the way. Ten out of ten.”

Castiel feels all of the blood drain from his face and Dean turns to face to still closed door in horror, for there’s nowhere else the distinctly female voice could have come from other than the other side. For lack of any better options, Castiel turns to flee, but Dean drops a heavy hand onto his shoulder and pushes him at the door. He stumbles forward and stares at Dean with wide terrified eyes.

Dean shakes his head and directs a slow purposeful look towards the door, then focuses back on Castiel and raises his eyebrows expectantly. Castiel shakes his head vigorously. Dean rolls his eyes and takes Castiel’s hand in his again and nods towards the door while giving Castiel’s hand a reassuring squeeze. _I’m right here with you. All the way. For as long as you want me._ The words are the last Dean said to him before entering the dorm building.

Castiel takes a deep breath, steels his spine, and then miraculously, he knocks.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**.**

**—** **Dean —**

**.**

A pretty redhead opens the door, smiling brightly. The first thing she does is step forward and pull Cas into a fierce hug. Cas has to drop Dean’s hand to return it and Dean wonders if either of them can breathe with how hard they’re gripping each other. They disentangle themselves and the next thing Dean knows he’s being similarly bombarded with a flurry of red hair and skinny arms squeezing him around his middle. He hugs back automatically.

“Uh hi?”

Anna resurfaces from the hug fest and bestows upon Dean a watery smile.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“I didn’t—,”

It amazing how quickly her smile can transform into a stern ‘don’t fuck with me’ frown. Suddenly Dean can see the family resemblance, loud and clear.

“Right. Uh, you’re welcome,” Dean says with an unsure glance over Anna’s head over to Cas. A flurry of emotions courses through Dean as the sight of Cas losing his battle against tears in the middle of the hallway registers in his brain.

“Cas—,” Dean starts gently. Cas sniffs hard and Anna swirls around.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Cas apologizes, wiping furiously at his eyes. “I just—,”

“Oh Cassie,” Anna coos and _why the hell do people keep calling him Cassie?_ “C’mon, we can go inside. My roommate is out for the day. Gabe called ahead and told me to expect you and she offered. I’ve been sitting on pins all day,” Anna says with a nervous grin over her shoulder as she leads the way into her room.

Dean wraps an arm around Cas’s shoulders and steers him in, hoping the familiar gesture soothes him a little, but all it seems to do is make things worse. Cas starts those hiccupping breaths and is clearly suppressing sobs and won’t take his hands off his face and Anna is starting to look really concerned. Dean spots a bathroom that seems to connect to the dorm next door and quickly guides Cas towards it.

He shoots a hurried apologetic grin at Anna and says, “We’ll just be a minute,” and shuts the door in her face, not giving a single damn what she will think of him. Dean quickly turns back to Cas and steps into his space.

“Cas, Cas, what’s wrong?” Dean asks in a soft whisper, as he gently places his hands over Cas’s and takes them away from his face. Cas sniffs again and doesn’t seem capable of words yet, he simply shakes his head, staring down at the floor.

Dean doesn’t know what he’s doing, he just makes soothing sounds and wipes carefully at Cas’s cheeks. Dean ducks down to catch Cas’s eye and when he does Cas makes a strained sound in his throat almost like a laugh and his lips twist into a pucker.

“Cas, what’s wrong?” Dean asks again. Cas sniffs and shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice a croak. “I just…”

“I thought you’d be happy,” Dean says, letting all of his bewilderment color his words. “We can leave if—,”

“No,” Cas cuts in. “No, I am happy. I am relieved and so happy and… I just got a little overwhelmed, I think.”

The hard lump of worry melts away in Dean’s gut. He thought he’d fucked up big time making Cas come before he was ready, but he knew the longer Cas put it off, the worse his nerves would be when he finally did it. If Dean were in his shoes he wouldn’t be any better.

Dean pulls Cas into a hug and Cas gripes him back, fisting his hands into the back of Dean’s shirt and pressing his face into Dean’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas’s voice is muffled, but the words are clear to Dean.

“Don’t mention it. D’you want me to stay? If not, I can drive around or something. I’d hate to encroach on your sibling bonding—,”

“Please stay,” Cas whispers, and his hold tightens.

“Alright. I’m staying,” Dean quickly assures him, rubbing up and down his back. Cas’s death grip loosens a bit and he sighs. “All the way, right?”

Cas’s only response is a nod, but then he releases Dean and steps back, wiping his face once more. Dean grabs him a wad of toilet paper and Cas accepts it with a quiet “Thank you,” before blowing his nose.

“Are we good?” Dean asks, eyeing Cas up and down. His clothes are wrinkled from the eight-hour drive to get here and his eyes are red rimmed and puffy, but his hair is just as tousled as always and he doesn’t look as panicked as he has since Dean announced they were driving to Chicago and spending the weekend with Anna ten hours ago and that’s reassuring.

“We are good,” Cas confirms. “Let’s go convince my sister I’m not crazy.”

Dean startles into a laugh and impulsively plants a kiss right on Cas’s forehead.

“We can try, but I don’t know that we’ll be able to keep the truth from her.”

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

It starts with a cough.

It’s loud and hacking and wet and Dean has half a mind to check that Sammy isn’t coughing up blood. By the next morning Sam looks like death.

“You should stay home,” Dean says the instant Sam stumbles his way into the kitchen. Sam blearily shakes his head and almost misses his chair as he sits down.

“I can’t,” he replies miserably, nose stuffed to high heaven. “I have a calculus test.”

“One test isn’t going to—,”

Sam glares through red ringed eyes. “It could. I can’t afford to start off the year behind.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue, but Sam’s got his shoulders hunched in defiance and Dean knows that any argument he tries to make will only succeed in making him late for work. Still…

“You sure? You look like shit.”

“Fuck off, Dean,” Sam snaps.

Dean throws his hands up and leaves the room to finish getting ready for work. Sam better not come crying to him when passes the fuck out in the middle of his oh-so-important math test. Dean’s not sure when the grades became more important than the student’s health but he is damn sick and tired of it. College is only going to be worse. It’s one of the reasons he needs Sam to stick nearby, otherwise who will make sure he doesn’t work himself to death?

He watches the bus pull away from the stop in front of their complex with Sam midway down, his forehead pressed to the cool glass as it pulls away. Dean gets a nasty feeling in his gut that this day is going to go downhill fast.

An hour, two detours, and a train later Dean knows he was fucking right. He pulls into a parking spot, 20 minutes late for work at the McHellhole and jumps out just as a big SUV pulls up and parks on the other side of the Impala. Why the hell they just _had_ to park right next to Dean all the way in the fucking boonies where the employees have to park, Dean can’t fucking fathom. He’s halfway to the restaurant when the sharp smack of metal on metal assaults his ears.

He freezes in place and turns around in what feels like slow motion. There’s a douchebag in a backwards baseball cap still holding the door to his gigantic SUV as he stares at the apple-sized dent he left in Baby’s passenger side.

“Shit. Sorry man.”

The world goes red. He wants to rage and spit fire and _shred_ the ignoramus in front of him into lunch meat. He wants to tear his fucking throat out with his bare hands, no holds barred.

“Winchester! You’re late!”

Dean freezes, one foot in the air in preparation to tear this guy a new asshole, but his manager’s voice stops him. He needs this job. He can’t brutally murder one of their customers in the parking lot, no matter how justified. And the shit on the shingle is that there’s literally nothing else he can do. There’s a “no fault” rule in parking lots so even if he reported it to his insurance, all they’d do is probably up his deductible. Bastards.

So Dean grits his teeth and swivels on his heel. His boss doesn’t lay into him too bad for being late. It’s only 20 minutes anyway and Andy is at least that every day and he still has a job. Dean goes up to take over the counter and sees The Douche second in line and decides, fuck that, and takes over for Andy in the back so he can go deal with McAsshole.

Only an hour later Dean gets the call.

“Winchester! Phone for you!”

Dean knows exactly who it is before he gets anywhere near the receiver. Fucking Sam. The call takes less than a minute, but Dean still has to convince his pain in the ass manager that yes, he really does have to leave and no, he will not be returning to finish out his shift.

“Isn’t he like 18?”

“17,” Dean corrects, knowing it won’t make a lick of a difference.

“Right, same thing. He’s still old enough to take care of himself, right?”

“He’s _sick_. He can hardly stand.” Why couldn’t today have been a coffee day? Benny wouldn’t be happy about it, but he would understand and he wouldn’t be an asshole.

“Well if he’s that sick it sounds like he never should have left the house! What were thinking, letting him go to school around other kids?”

Dean knows Gordon doesn’t give two shits about the other kids. He only cares about making Dean’s and everyone else’s lives hell.

“Look, I’ve gotta go. They’re waiting,” Dean says through clenched teeth.

“You coming back?”

“Probably not.”

Gordon tsks and shakes his head and says with a helpless sort of shrug, “That’s a shame. I’m going to have to write you up for this one Winchester.”

“Whatever.” Dean is done. “I have to go.”

He gets all the way to the parking lot before he remembers the door ding and his foul mood shifts farther south. He roars out of the parking lot and curses in rage when he hits the first detour. He forgot about those too.

When he finally makes it to the nurse’s office he has to take several deep breaths outside the door before he knows he’s safe to talk to people without beheading them. He pushes through the door and is met with the sourest look he’s ever seen on a human face. And he just got done dealing with Gordon.

“I’m here for Sam,” Dean says when the short curly haired nurse just continues to try and incinerate him with her thoughts.

“Are you his legal guardian?” She sniffs.

“Yes?” Dean responds, not sure what the hell that has to do with anything. Bobby can and has picked up Sam from school before so Dean doesn’t know what the hell “legal guardianship” has to do with it.

The nurse harrumphs and bustles off without another word. Dean trails after her with the sinking feeling that this shitty day is about to crap on him again. She leads him to a side room where Sam is laying on a much too short cot with his legs dangling over the edge at the knees and his arm throw across his eyes. This fucking growth spurt better end soon or they’re going to run out of pants in his size.

“Sammy?”

Sam moves his arm and blinks over at Dean, relief washing over his face.

“Dean. You were right.”

“Damn straight. You look like shit man.”

“Language,” the nurse scolds.

“I feel like shit too,” Sammy says and Dean smiles for the first time that day. Now if he can just get them out of here before the nurse gets a chance to say whatever the hell is bothering her so much, the day might just be salvageable. Dean can guess what the bee in her bosom is, and it’s not a lecture he feels like sitting in on.

“There a thing I need to sign or something?” Dean asks, blinking innocently at the nurse. She scowls and hands in him a clipboard. And then she lets him have it. “It” being the lecture. Dean tunes it out when he can, instead signing the form then trying to help Sam to his feet and gather his 20-pound backpack. All the while she reads him the riot act on what a piece of shit he is.

“Fever of 102.”

“Dehydrated.”

“Passed out in gym.”

“Lucky he didn’t hit his head.”

“Unfit guardian.”

Are a few of the bits that stick out in Dean’s memory. That last one though, that’s the heavy hitter. That’s the one that stops Dean’s breath in his lungs and sends his heart pounding into overtime and the familiar spike of terror into his gut. They can’t take Sam away. _No no no no no_.

Dean slings Sam’s arm around his shoulders and marches them to the door. He smiles over his shoulder, tosses out a strained thank you, and gets the hell out. He practically drags Sam to the Impala and settles him in the back.

They’re halfway home when Sam gets his thought around enough to speak.

“Why did you let her talk to you like that? You let her walk all over you and it was my fault. You told me to stay home and I didn’t listen. You should’ve told her to shove her opinion up her ass.”

Dean doesn’t say anything. He can’t explain the soul wrenching terror. He doesn’t tell Sam that he could still get taken away if Dean isn’t good enough. That an “opinion” from the school nurse could have DHS knocking on their door. Dean doesn’t say a damn thing until they’re home with the door locked and Sam is knocked back in bed a dose of medicine down his throat and a glass of water on his nightstand. And even then all Dean says is, “Shut up and drink your water”.

Sam is asleep in minutes, the water glass refilled and waiting on his nightstand once more, but all Dean can do is pace. It would be just his damn luck if he made it this far only to have Sam taken away in the final stretch.

There are footsteps coming down the hall outside the front door. Dean rocks to a standstill, holding his breath, and praying to whatever is listening, ‘ _Please don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t— ‘_

The footsteps creak to a stop just outside Dean’s door and he thinks he’s going to puke. _No please—_

The door across the hall squeaks open and closes with a soft click and Dean’s legs give out from under him, dropping him all at once into a trembling heap on the floor. He can’t do this again. It’s not _fair_. They can’t take Sammy away from him. He won’t let them. He won’t.

Dean lurches to his feet, roughly swiping his fingers down damp cheeks and looks around the apartment. He can see just about the whole thing from the where he stands beside the ratty green sofa; the living room (cluttered coffee table, scattered clothes, abandoned books), the kitchen (dirty dishes piled up in the right side of the sink and clean dishes still sitting in the strainer from the last time they got washed), and down the hall to the bathroom (dirty towel on the floor, dried toothpaste speckles on the mirror, cotton swabs and crumpled tissues spilling over the sides of the overfull trash can).

This, he can fix. This is within his control. If someone is going to take Sammy away it’ll be over Dean’s dead body in an otherwise spotless apartment.

The living room gets hit first— clothes into the wash, books to Sam’s room, dirty dishes to the sink. Six months’ worth of dust build up gets wiped away and that weird stain in the carpet gets the hell scrubbed out of it. The kitchen is next, then the bathroom, Dean’s room, and Sam’s. Dean tries to be quiet at first so as to not wake Sam, but it soon becomes clear that the Sturgis motorcycle rally in its entirety could ride through their living room and not wake him.

Dean’s vacuuming when Sam finally stumbles out of his cave and almost trips over the cord. Dean shuts down the vacuum and the ensuing silence is deafening.

“What are you doing up? You’re supposed to be resting,” Dean snaps to drown it out. Sam doesn’t answer. Instead he blinks around the spotless room and peers around the corner into the gleaming kitchen without saying a word. The he turns and squints down the hall to the scrubbed bathroom before finally facing Dean.

“She really did a number on you, didn’t she?” Sam asks voice rough, but it’s not a question.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Dean gruffly. “You should be in bed. You’re sick.”

Sam shoots him an incredulous look, not at all backed up by the high color in his cheeks, glassy eyes, and cracked, dry lips.

“Yeah, _sick_ , not dead. I just slept for five hours, Dean. Have you been… cleaning this whole time?”

_Panicking_ is the word Dean hears buried under the false pretense. Dean and Sam both know Dean only obsessively cleans when he’s freaking the fuck out, and that’s exactly what he’s been doing for the past… He checks the clock on the microwave. Huh. It really has been five hours. But that doesn’t mean he deserves for Sam to call in reinforcements on him.

Before Dean even realizes what’s happening, Sam already has his phone to his ear saying, “Hey Bobby”.

“Fucking _hell_ , Sam,” Dean growls just loud enough for Sam to hear without tipping Bobby off. Sam just turns his back and continues his conversation. Dean turns the vacuum back on, partly to be an ass and partly to finish the living room, but mostly to be an ass. Sam shoots a bitchface in his direction and retreats to his room, a hand plugging his ear while the other clutches his cell.

Dean finishes vacuuming and removes the dirt compartment to dump in the kitchen garbage. When he returns to the living room, Sam is there, no phone in sight, arms crossed over his chest in defiance of the pink splotches growing on his cheeks and looking fit to out stubborn a stallion.

“Sam, sit down,” Dean sighs, gesturing to the couch, now fitted out with freshly fluffed cushions and an old throw draped over the back because Dean likes the homey feel it lends to the room.

“Bobby says to come over,” Sam says, not budging and reminding Dean impossibly of three-year-old Sam in ratty dinosaur pajamas telling Dean that dad said not to dump anymore of his “special grown up juice” down the drain.

“Seriously Sam, if you’re not going to sleep then at least sit,” Dean tries.

“No. Not until you agree to go.”  
Before Dean can strangle Sam, his phone starts ringing in his pocket. He digs it out and glares at the screen.

“What,” he snaps.

“Don’t you get lippy with me, boy. Now pack your crap and get over here. I expect you and Sam both to stay through the weekend.” Bobby’s gruff tone brooks no argument, but Dean’s never been one to take a hint.

“I work tomorrow,” he says, belligerent to his last breath.

“Tough. Now get packin’.”

“But Bobby—,”

“What now?” Bobby barks, but his voice is distant like he moved the phone away from his face to yell at someone else for once. Cas’s voice filters in from far off, but clear enough that Dean can hear and understand him.

“It’s not big enough.”

“Yes it is you idjit. Just put it on.”

_What the hell…_ Dean’s not sure he wants to hear anymore, but he can’t stop listening.

“It. Doesn’t. Fit. _Robert_.”

“Like hell it doesn’t. It stretches. See?”

“The corners keep coming off,” Cas whines. Bobby sighs, crackling in the phone.

“You’re supposed to tuck ‘em all the way under the mattress. Ain’t you ever made a bed before?” he asks, mostly sarcastic, but Dean can detect a hint of honest curiosity.

“No,” Cas responds, simple and blunt and as unapologetic as ever.

“Well go learn and leave me be,” Bobby snaps, his patience finally lost.

Dean can almost hear the fed up expression on Cas’s face and, too late, he realizes he’s smiling. He quickly frowns again, but a glance reveals Sam already saw.

“Fine. We’re on our way.”

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Dean throws the Impala into park at the end of Bobby’s drive and snatches the duffle bags from the trunk without saying a word to Sam as he gingerly unfolds himself from the passenger side. His foul mood is back with a vengeance after having to be reminded of and explain to Sam what happened to the side of the Impala.

“Who pissed in your Cheerios?” Bobby says from the porch, arms crossed on top of his beer gut and no nonsense frown twitching his beard. Dean scowls at him as he passes by and refuses to answer.

“Some dick dinged the Impala apparently,” Chatty Cathy answers, trailing behind Dean and wiping his snotty nose on his sleeve. “Got her good too.”

Dean about crashes headlong into Cas as he pops around the corner out of nowhere.

“Someone scratched the Impala?” he asks and then narrows his eyes threateningly. “Who?” he demands, voice unreasonably low. Seriously. What is he even trying to prove?

Dean dodges around him and doesn’t answer him either. Everyone can shove their inane questions up their asses for all he cares. This is not a conversation he intends to have.

“I dunno,” Sam pants from somewhere behind Dean. Dean stomps extra hard all the way up the stairs in an attempt to drown out his voice. “All Dean said was something about a ‘McAsshole’ and then he clammed up. So I guess it must have happened at work this morning.”

Dean chucks Sam’s duffle onto his bed in the spare room Sam usually claims on the rare occasions that they stay over at Bobby’s and goes to shut himself away in his own before he remembers that he already gave it away to Cas. He throws his bag down onto the floor in front of the closet and tries to catch his breath. He can’t tell if he’s more furious or terrified, but anger has always been easier for him to deal with so he latches onto it and lets it grow and fester and the next thing he knows he’s in the shop with Baby, her door laying on the floor in front of him.

McAsshole didn’t just dent her, he also managed to scratch up the paint. Dick. That means it’ll be a day and a half long chore of stripping the paint, popping the dent, repainting, and adding the sealant, not even counting the time it takes to dry between coats. So it’ll be 2-3 days of tooling around in one of Bobby’s ancient clunkers just because some _douche canoe_ doesn’t know how to open a damn door. Fucking perfect.

Halfway through stripping the paint, Dean turns to grab a rag and about has a heart attack when he finds Cas, perched cross-legged on the workbench with his nose in a book.

“What the fuck!” Dean exclaims, ripping the white nose and mouth mask from his face and then asks more calmly, “What are you doing?”

“Reading,” Cas replies, not bothering to look up at Dean or inflect emotion into his tone as he flicks to the next page.

“Obviously. Why?” Dean presses, not bothering to ‘turn down the attitude’ as Ellen would say.

“I find it to be an enjoyable and enlightening—,”

“No,” Dean interrupts, frustration creeping in and making him hot around the collar. “Why here? I’m working.”

“Yes you are,” Cas replies carelessly.

“Dammit Cas!” Dean exclaims. “I know what you’re up to.”

“Then please, less talking. You’re very distracting,” Cas mumbles, like his focus has already been drawn away by the words on the page. Dean grits his teeth and throws his hands in the air.

“Stubborn son of a bitch,” he growls, shooting a venomous glare at Cas’s hunched form.

Cas just hums absently and continues to read. Dean sighs. Arguing with Cas is like arguing with a brick. A goddamn sassy brick that knows exactly what it’s doing.

“At least put on a mask,” Dean says, tossing the box up beside Cas’s thigh. “I’m working with paint thinner dumbass.”

Cas does as he’s told and straps a white mask over his face, only pausing to adjust it incrementally before returning to his book. Stubborn son of a bitch. Dean gets back to work, resolving to ignore him entirely. It works after a while and Dean completely zones into what he’s doing, shutting out the outside world and all its little distractions.

Hours later Dean is drawn out of his trance-like state by a weird sound. He looks up from the door where the dent and paint are both completely gone, and blinks around him, willing his eyes to focus more than two feet in front of his face. The first thing he notices is that it’s dark out. He’s inside the garage with its track lighting, but the big bay door is open revealing the navy blue of the sky and the tiny pinpricks of the stars. No moon yet.

The second thing he notices it that Cas is still there, plopped on the workbench like it’s a conventional reading space with the same book and his mask covering half his face. Dean considers telling him that he could have taken it off when the paint thinner got put away, but it’d be pointless because he’s about ready to drag out the paint and start spraying so he’d just have to put it back on anyway.

Dean gives the door one last wipe with his rag before getting to his feet to go hunt down the leftover paint from last time he re-did Baby’s coat. Before he gets more than two steps he hears that sound again, the one he’d already forgotten, but this time he knows exactly what it is.

“Really Cas? Go eat.”

“I’m alright,” he answers, voice muffled by the mask.

“Your stomach is growling. You’re hungry. Go eat,” Dean insists. There is no point in hanging around out here on Dean’s account. It ain’t like he’s never been alone before.

“I’ve suffered worse,” Cas says. Water is wet. The sky is blue. I’ve suffered worse.

“You’ve suff—,” Dean shakes his head and barely manages to avoid throttling him where his sits with his nose _still in that fucking book_. “You don’t have to suffer. There’s food in the house, literally right _there_.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dammit Cas! Stop being so— so bull headed! You’re pissing me off!”

Cas finally lowers his stupid book and pulls the mask down to rest around his neck as though to make certain Dean doesn’t miss a single syllable.

“ _I’m_ bull-headed,” he echoes dryly. “I will take care of my health no sooner and no later than you take care of your own.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean effuses, throwing his arms wide.

“When was the last time _you_ ate, Dean?” Cas demands, losing some of that infuriating calmness as his eyes glint sharply in the harsh fluorescent light. “We’ve been out here for roughly six hours so it’s been at least that long and from what Sam said, I doubt you were in a state of mind to remember to eat before you came here. So tell me, how long?”

Dean opens his mouth and closes it again. Other than a bowl of cereal this morning, he stress ate some old sloppy joe mix straight out of the tupperware while he was cleaning out the fridge, but that was it. And now that Cas has mentioned it, his stomach is kind of crampy and his legs feel a touch shaky. He can’t remember the last time he had something to drink…

“I need to get paint on the door so it can dry overnight,” Dean says rather than voice anything that might lead Cas to believe that he has a point.

“Fine,” Cas replies easily, that hard glint disappearing as he covers his face with his book once more. What Dean would give to slam that thing into his face. Instead he snaps at him to put his mask back on and leaves to find his paint.

He’s distracted now. He can’t fall into it like he had been before. In between making sure the paint spreads in an even, unblemished coat, he glances up at Cas, checking for any sign that he might crack. His face is completely impassive; a stone wall with bright blue eyes that don’t once glance up to meet Dean’s stare. And yet, he somehow seems entirely at ease, content even, to wait out Dean’s pig-headed defiance.

Even when Dean is finished, a smooth glassy black coat gleaming fresh and wet, Cas doesn’t look up, doesn’t move to get up, nothing. Even though Dean is as far as he can get tonight. He’s just sitting there, like he doesn’t feel the discomfort of the hard bench, the stiffness he’s sure to be feeling in his back, or the chill of the summer night wafting in through the open door. It’s like he’s immune, impenetrable, untouchable.

He must finally feel Dean’s eyes on him.

He lifts his head and cocks it to the side as he watches Dean watch him, eyes serious over the top of his mask. The guilt settles over Dean like a warm familiar blanket that itches like hell no matter how he shifts under it. He’s treated Cas, Sam, and Bobby like shit today, and why? Because he got a little scared, a shit excuse. And yet, here’s Cas, sticking like glue. Hell if Dean knows why. There’s nothing here worth sticking around for.

A low grumble interrupts their impromptu staring contest, this time it’s Dean’s stomach. He cracks half a smile and jerks his head to the open bay door.

“Ready?”

Cas pauses as though to consider, his eyebrows drawn low.

“One more chapter.”

“Seriously?”

“No,” Cas’s eyes crinkle in the corners above his mask and Dean knows his smiling underneath it as he hops down from the workbench.

“You can take that mask off now, you weirdo.”

Dean shuts down the lights and they duck out under the bay door as it makes its way steadily back down until it hits the ground. The night is cooler than they usually get in early September, but the cicadas still scream and the bullfrogs at the pond croak in harmony.

“You smell,” Cas says, mask still in place as they walk up to the house.

“Yeah well, so do you.”

“You smell worse.”

“Thanks.” Dean means for it to come out sarcastic and gruff, but something happens to the words on the journey from brain to mouth and they still come out gruff, but there’s an underlying sincerity that Dean wasn’t expecting. If Cas is at all caught off guard, he doesn’t let it show.

“You’re welcome,” he says and then swiftly launches into a monologue about the book series he just checked out from the library and Dean is content to just listen and wonder how the hell he fell into this… whatever it is he and Cas have. He wonders who decided that he could ever deserve him.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

When Dean wakes up, he’s sprawled across the couch alone with a soft worn blanket tucked around him even though he’s pretty sure he passed out on Cas last night not even halfway through the new Star Trek. He could have dreamed that though. His thoughts of yesterday are all pretty muddled. One thing he knows for sure is that he was an ass to pretty much everyone and yet Cas sat down with him and box of Cheerios and a gallon of milk and watched the SciFi channel with him until he fell asleep and then apparently covered him up and left like a perfect gentleman.

Dean struggles into a sitting position and inhales deeply the smell of frying sausage wafting in from the kitchen across the hall. It’s shaping up to be a pretty decent way to wake up. If only he didn’t have to work. Dean checks the time on his phone and rolls off the couch swearing.

“I already called in for you,” Bobby’s voice carries from the kitchen. Dean slips on the blanket and catches himself on the coffee table before stomping into the other room.

“You what?” He demands. Dammit Bobby he _needs_ that money. He can’t just go taking weekends off all willy-nilly.

Bobby spears him with a glance and continues calmly frying his meat.

“I called in. Cas said you was supposed to be in that coffee shop at the crack of dawn this morning so I went ahead and called and me and that Benny fellow had a nice chat about you needin’ to take some time off so it weren’t no hardship a his to give you tomorrow off too. He seemed awful glad to hear you’re finally takin’ care of yourself,” Bobby adds nonchalantly, but the sharp-eyed stare he levels at Dean tells him he damn _better_ be taking care of himself.

Dean chews on that for a long minute, pouring himself a mug of coffee instead of responding. Finally, he decides the fight isn’t worth it. What’s done is done and apparently he has the weekend off. If there’s a bright side, it’s that at least he has plenty of time to get Baby road worthy again.

“Cas is up?” he asks instead of picking up any of the time bombs Bobby just laid at his feet.

Bobby snorts so hard he almost inhales his mustache.

“Like hell. That boy sleeps like the dead. I thought Sam was bad,” Bobby says with a shake of his head. “The only thing that boy gets out of bed for is coffee and work.”

The final words are hardly past Bobby’s lips when there’s a soft scuffing sound from the hall and Cas shuffles into view— hair wild atop his head and eyes narrowed into sleepy unhappy slits against the soft yellow glow of the kitchen. Bobby ceases all movement and stares like Cas just raised the dead right there in his kitchen.

“Dean,” Cas mumbles squinting in his direction, voice so deep Dean can hardly make out the words. “Are you alright?”

Dean licks dry lips and clears his throat. “Yeah man I’m, I’m better.”

Cas somehow manages to further his squint as he regards Dean, searching for falsehoods. Everything must be to his satisfaction because he nods and asks, “You’re staying?”

“Bobby called in for me,” Dean explains. Cas frowns.

“But are you staying?”

“I— yeah. I’m staying.”

Cas nods and yawns, suddenly losing all of his intensity with the simple gestures and Dean feels like he’s finally permitted to breath. Cas is already turning away as he speaks again.

“Sam’s fever is down.”

“Uh good,” Dean says to the empty air as he listens to Cas creak back up the stairs, presumably to go back to bed.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Bobby says. “Make that coffee, work, and _you_.”

Dean’s face feels hot so he deliberately sinks his nose into his coffee.

“And Sam,” he adds.

Bobby rolls his eyes so hard Dean’s twitch with sympathy pains.

“Idjits.”

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Fall and winter blur by in a series of little moments carved out between long hours at one job or another. It’s more difficult than ever to find time to spend with Sam and Cas, but at least Dean gets to see Sam on a somewhat regular basis thanks to living together. There are times Dean goes over a week without seeing Cas. The days where their schedules coincide enough that they’re at least both at Bobby’s at the same time are nice. Bobby hired on a couple new hands to help with the new customers so sometimes he’ll send Dean and Cas off to work on something around the house, weather permitting.

They fix the front porch steps, Cas’s bedroom door (and the hole in the wall behind it), and one memorable weekend they redo Bobby’s plumbing in the bathroom. While Cas is a much better carpenter than he is a mechanic, plumbing is unfortunately not one of his strong suits. But they get it done and in the end the hot is hot and the cold is cold, which is all they really wanted anyway.

Other days, when Dean gets off work in time, he picks Cas up from the library and those are the brightest blips in his week. Usually they go out for burgers or pizza and don’t make it back to Bobby’s until late. Dean pays more often than not, simply because he knows Cas is saving every penny he gets in his shiny new savings account, so it’s either Dean pays or they don’t go and to Dean those nights are worth every cent.

Then, one night Dean is woken up by his cell phone blaring — It’s Bobby, asking when the hell he’s planning on getting Cas home. Dean glares at the clock, 10:30, and his stomach bottoms out. The library closes at eight. The latest Cas would be there is 8:30.

“Bobby, I didn’t pick Cas up today.”

Heart in throat, Dean tosses his phone aside and starts throwing on clothes and is just snatching up his keys when the phone rings again.

“I got him. Missed the last bus and decided he’d just walk 15 miles instead of calling for a ride. Idjit.”

“I don’t have a phone, _Robert_ ,” Cas’s irritated voice filters in and Dean can finally breath. He didn’t know how badly he needed to hear it until he did.

The very next day, Dean takes an extra-long break from the shop and picks Cas up from the library to get him his very own line on his and Sam’s plan. Cas bitches and whines until Dean agrees to let Cas pay him the extra ten bucks a month for the line as well as the hundred dollars for the new phone.

A month later, Dean quietly upgrades their plan to unlimited texting and data. He doesn’t know who the hell Cas has been texting so much, but he got uncomfortably close to their limit and Dean’s not gonna take those kinds of chances. And besides, he’s found that he kinda likes the weird, random-ass texts and pictures that he gets from Cas throughout the day. It almost makes up for how little they see each other. He doesn’t even mind Cas’s gross overuse of emoticons… much.

The holidays come and go in a whirlwind of food and family and one very awkward week where Bobby crashes on Dean’s couch to avoid Gabriel. Cas held up his promise and warned Bobby before Gabriel came to stay over Christmas and Bobby held true to his threat to get the hell out of dodge. Dean just didn’t think that’d mean Bobby would be living with them for a week, just as Dean never thought he’d live to see the day Bobby Singer was chased from his own home by a half pint with a sugar addiction and a (quite frankly) creepy crush on Dean’s 17-year-old little brother.

Dean wouldn’t believe it if he didn’t see it with his own eyes, but Gabriel looked almost heartbroken the first time he saw Sam and Jess being all cute together, her being back in town for the holidays as well. He backed off after that, something Dean and Sam are both grateful for, if surprised. More surprisingly, Jess didn’t seem to mind him. She thinks he’s funny and was the only one to not only tolerate, but encourage his jokes.

In return, she was the only one who didn’t get glitter in her shoes Christmas Eve. Dean got glitter and a freaking live _mouse_. He doesn’t know how the hell Gabriel did it, but he’s convinced it was him. There’s no way a mouse just crawled into a glitter filled shoe and decided to take a nap. Gabriel did it and his smug smirk and wink are enough to cement Dean’s suspicions as far as he’s concerned.

Cas tried to keep it as a pet, but Bobby put the kibosh on that pretty quick and ordered him to take it out to the field out back as that’s probably where it came from anyway (bullshit). Dean has the feeling that Cas didn’t quite do as told, but he keeps his mouth shut.

It’s four months later, a perfect four months where Dean thinks maybe things are finally turning out how they’re meant to, maybe it’s supposed to be Sam and Cas and Dean forever, that’s when everything goes to absolute shit.

And all it takes to ruin everything is a fucking envelope dropped in their mail slot.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**_._ **

**_— Castiel —_ **

**_._ **

The door to the office slams open, denting the wall and startling Castiel enough to finger mash all over the keyboard.

“Dean?” Castiel asks. Dean doesn’t seem to hear him. He hardly looks at Castiel before stalking to one end of the room only to turn and start back to where he just came. When he speaks it’s like a dam breaking and releasing a flood of hard angry words in place of water.

“I can’t believe— Behind my back!” Dean snaps disjointedly. Castiel’s stomach plummets sharply thinking that Dean is angry with him until his next words register. “It’s like nothing I’ve done for him matters! It’s like family is nothing to him!”

“Dean, what are you talking about?” Castiel asks. Slowly, he stands and takes a careful step forward as though approaching a wounded frightened animal. Sometimes Dean needs to be handled as such, namely when his emotions become too much for him.

Castiel steps around the desk and his eyes are drawn to Dean’s fist, clenched desperately around a letter, hopelessly crumpled and torn letter, but the Stanford letterhead is clear. Oh no.

“What did I do wrong, Cas?” Dean asks, his voice cracking and his eyes meeting Castiel’s for the first time. “I just don’t know what I did that was so bad that he’d run away.”

“Dean you did nothing wrong,” Cas is quick to assure him. He bites his lip and takes a chance, reaching to circle his fingers around Dean’s wrist in a loose grip. Dean doesn’t react beyond looking down at where their skin meets. “He’s not running away.”

“Then why didn’t he tell me? Why would he try to sneak this past me?” Dean demands. He shakes the letter at Castiel and holds it up to his face to read again.

“Dean,” Castiel says carefully. He gently pushes the letter down away from Dean’s line of sight. “Sam loves you, but this is something he did for himself. It had nothing to do with you.”

Dean narrows his eyes and Castiel knows his ship is sunk. Dean looks at him like he’s never seen him before.

“You fucking knew.” Dean’s voice is low and dangerous making Castiel’s arm hairs stand on end. He wrenches his arm out of Castiel’s hand. “Both of you _lied_ to me!”

“Dean please—,”

Dean shakes his head roughly and steps away, turning his back. Castiel snaps his mouth shut, face screwed up in pain. At the time it had seemed harmless, allowing Sam to sit on this secret until he knew it was a real possibility, but Castiel can see now that believing so was clearly a mistake- A mistake that is going to cost Castiel the most precious thing life has seen to bestow upon him.

“What else have you been keeping from me?” Dean growls.

“I—,” His eyes start to fill with tears and he shakes his head, unable to get the words out through his suddenly tight throat.

“Nothing,” he chokes. “Dean, Sam didn’t expect to get accepted. He only applied because I pushed him to. He shouldn’t have to live the rest of his life wondering if he would have been good enough. Now, even if he doesn’t go he knows at least he had the choice. I, for one, am proud of him.”

Dean glares and Castiel can see the fight brewing in the cutting green glint in his eyes.

“I’m not trying to fight,” he explains. “I’m being honest.”

“Honesty sucks,” It’s said with the petulance of a child and it’s unreasonably endearing on Dean and Castiel thinks, just maybe, Dean will allow them to come back from this.

“Sam told me last year that Stanford is his dream school. That was before he’d started dating Jess and she got accepted. I asked why he was set on KU if Stanford was his dream and he said he didn’t want to leave you. You had a plan that Sam would go to KU, but it was _your_ plan Dean. Don’t hold Sam back for your own selfish gain. You’re better than that. I know you are.”

Castiel feels terrible for using Dean’s penchant towards guilt and self-blame like this, but he’s only being truthful. He just needs for Dean to see that what he’s trying to do to Sam is wrong.

“Gee, don’t bother holding back,” Dean says, eyes wide like he just received a sucker punch as he stares at Castiel, a stranger.

“Dean, I don’t want—,”

“You know, forget it. Just forget it.” Dean starts walking away, but not before Castiel catches a flash of the hurt streaking across his face.

“Wait!” Castiel calls after him. Dean stops in the doorway, face impassive. “Don’t be upset with Sam. I pushed him to apply. I just wanted—,”

“Yeah. I know. Next time just nose out, would you?” Dean snaps. “You just lost me my brother.”

“Dean—,”  
“Don’t. I can’t talk to you right now. Just… Don’t.”

Dean is gone a moment later, leaving Castiel with the sinking feeling that he personally packed down the last shovelful of dirt onto the grave of his and Dean’s relationship.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Sam calls later, speaking in a hushed voice on the phone and sounding absolutely miserable as he regales Castiel with the story that Castiel has already lived.

“You already knew,” Sam says when he remains unsurprised by Dean’s discovery.

“Yes. For what it’s worth, congratulations.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Sam mumbles. “Who’d have thunk I’d get a full ride to _Stanford_?” Castiel can hear the awed smile through the phone. Castiel sits up straight from where he was slouched against his headboard.

“They offered you a full ride? Sam that’s amazing,” Castiel enthuses.

Sam laughs disjointedly. “All four years. KU only offered two.”

“That’s incredible!”

Sam huffs a little. “I just wish Dean thought so. He’s trying to pretend, but I think it’s worse than the yelling. It’s like I broke something in him or… I dunno.” There’s a pregnant pause. “D’you think you could…”

Castiel is shaking his head before Sam trails off, despite the fact that Sam can’t see him.

“Dean doesn’t wish to speak to me anymore,” he admits as emotionlessly as he can manage.

“What?” Sam is flabbergasted, forgetting to whisper. “Why not?”

“I told him I convinced you to apply.”

“But why would you— I would have applied anyway! I just would have felt guilty, or, _guiltier_. Why would you—?”

“I didn’t want him to be angry with you,” Castiel sighs. He’s not sure if this worked out for anyone, but it’s too late to turn back now.

Sam makes a sound like he’s about to tear into Cas, but seems to think better of it and sighs loudly into the phone causing the line to crackle.

“So how angry is he really then?”

Castiel flashes back to the hurt Dean didn’t quite manage to conceal before he left and wants to answer that he may not be near as angry as Sam would think, but hurts can be much harder to heal than simple anger.

“He told me I cost him his brother.”

“Ouch.”

Castiel sighs. “Yes.”

Sam is silent for a long moment. Castiel doesn’t doubt that he’s gathering up an argument to convince him that things will turn out alright. He won’t succeed.

“He’ll get over himself, Cas. I swear he will,” is the best Sam can do.

Castiel wants to laugh and cry and kick a hole through the drywall.

“I’m not so sure Sam. You’re his world.”

“That’s not true,” Sam immediately disagrees with a vehemence that takes Castiel aback. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re a heavy contender these days.”

Castiel scoffs. “Very funny.”

“I’m serious,” Sam insists and he sounds it, but Castiel can’t believe that someone could value him even half as much as Dean values Sam. Not possible.

“You’ll always be the most important person in Dean’s life, no matter how else Dean comes to care for anyone else,” he says.

“Maybe that’s true,” Sam concedes, “but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t got room for anyone else. He’s got a big heart.”

Castiel smiles. Sam has him there.

“I know.”

“Just hang in there, alright? He’ll come around.”

“Okay,” Castiel agrees, more to end the subject than to agree or convey faith. At least the short time they had will give Castiel something to look back on fondly someday. Someday when looking back hurts less.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

**_Wuts up bb cuz_ **

_Ok spill. What’s going on w you??_

Apparently, Castiel’s family knows him better than he gives them credit for. At least Gabriel and Anna do at any rate.

**_wut did tht freckle face bastard do_ **

_Is it Dean?_

Much better than he gives them credit for.

**_He cheat on u? Say da wrd n no1 will find da body_ **

_You guys didn’t break up did you? You were so cute together!_

Well, not _that_ much.

**Dean and I are having a disagreement. I’m fine. Dean is not and has never been my boyfriend. We are just friends.**

Castiel sends the text to both of them, hoping they will drop the subject. As far as hopes go, it’s a naive one.

**_Wut R U SERIOUS no ur totally wit tht ive seen u 2_ **

_….why?? You @least have feelings for him right? I KNOW he does for you._

Castiel sighs and tucks his phone into his pocket without responding. He picks up a stack of books to re-shelve instead. It’s not a conversation he’ up to having, not only a scant week after the termination of his and Dean’s friendship. Besides, technically the rule is no cell phone usage on the clock so he has an excuse to his silence should he need it, not that he or anyone follows the rule; even the director can be found on her phone. The unspoken amendment to the rule is so long as you don’t neglect your duties or have it out in front of the patrons, no one cares.

It’s a rule that Castiel has abused with gleeful abandon since the very first day of becoming a phone owner. He came back from his lunch break that day and immediately texted both Dean and Sam (the only contacts he had programmed in at the time). It took a few trial and error attempts before he managed it, but he did all by himself.

Sam had responded first, _Welcome to 2015!_

Dean’s response had followed 20 minutes later, _Ur gonna be one of those aren’t u_.

Castiel didn’t text Dean much at first- a string of emoticons here, a funny picture there- he kept a close count of how many texts he sent Dean and how many he received back in response… at first. Soon Dean started responding with his own funny picture or a word or two, usually calling Castiel a nerd after he tried to tell a story with solely emoji’s. Eventually, Dean started to try and guess the story or continue it and it always made Castiel feel like flying when he got it right.

After Dean found out about Stanford, the text messages stopped. All of them. Castiel sent a few the immediate days after, but pretty quickly stopped when he was no longer willing to continue slamming his head into Dean’s wall of silence. Once Anna and Gabriel cottoned on that something was up, they kept up a steady stream of inane conversation.

He doesn’t bother responding to most of it (Gabriel always seems to want to talk about food), but they keep sending them anyway and he appreciates the gesture. Sam tries too, but it seems that with Dean being such a prominent feature in his life, it’s very difficult to have a conversation without bringing him up which then lends their conversation towards becoming stilted and awkward. They can’t even talk about school without thoughts of Dean lurking ominously in the corners of the discussion.

So their talks tend to be more Castiel-centric and he’s never been very good at talking about himself, so he talks about various books or people he meets. He started a game months ago where he would make up an entire life story based on someone’s appearance or mannerisms as they come through the library. It’s a game he used to play with Dean, but he tries it with Sam anyway.

He tells him about Frank who immigrated from Austria with his seven brothers and sisters when he was six, the youngest of the group. Frank had blond hair back then, but it has since darkened to brown and then grayed and now is almost completely gone. He has a dog named Vincent, a poodle. He and Vincent go on walks every Thursday morning down a hiking trail and then Frank drops Vincent off at home and comes to the library to use the computer to look for jobs. He hopes to find one in finance, but would settle for IT.

Sam texts back that Frank sounds interesting and asks how Castiel managed to find out so much about someone just by them visiting the library. _Dean_ would have asked about Frank’s war with the squirrel that lives in the neighbor’s tree and is always terrorizing Vincent when he’s in the backyard. Castiel doesn’t try to play the game with Sam anymore after that. While Castiel loves Sam, sometimes he’s just too… not Dean.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Dean isn’t speaking to him; when they get busy at work, when he and Sam delve into a deep literary discussion, on the runs Castiel has started going on almost daily, or when he’s is talking on the phone with Anna about her latest art project and how her still-life professor is a vampire. But something is always waiting in the wings to remind him and draw him back to reality; a man in a leather jacket, Sam awkwardly skirting a topic that in some way relates to Dean, a loud car driving by as Castiel waits for the bus. He goes out for burgers a few times by himself, but they never taste the same and he wonders if it’s because he doesn’t have to order onions on them anymore to give to Dean.

There’s so many things reminding him all the time that, really, it’s amazing he’s ever allowed to forget. And when he does remember it’s hard and fast, all at once, like a wallop to the gut.

It goes on for weeks, months. Bobby tries to talk to him once, but Castiel brushes him off. There’s nothing he can do. It’s Dean’s decision and he will respect it.

Sam’s 18th birthday comes and goes uncelebrated. They decided to have a joint celebration for his graduation and his birthday at the end of the month to save money. Castiel receives his very own invitation to the graduation ceremony, making it clear beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sam expects him to be there. Castiel requests the day off work that very afternoon. Of course, it will be awkward being there with Dean and Bobby, but it’s for Sam so Castiel is sure that they can all overcome their differences and be adults.

They never get that far.

Castiel is out in town after work. It was a long day with a roller coaster of emotions. Their head librarian passed away in some sort of accident where no one is really sure what happened. Some say it was an animal attack and others think it was a simple hiking accident and she fell. Whichever it was is irrelevant to Castiel. She was a beautiful person and he is devastated to hear of her passing.

Before he is even an hour into his shift, he is called into the director’s office, a feat that has only happened once before when he was chastised for personally paying a high schooler’s late fees so he could check out the required reading for his AP Lit class. This time he is offered a promotion from library assistant to librarian. He knows without being told that the offer came at this time to fill in the open positions left by the Head Librarian’s passing and the subsequent promotion of another librarian into the open slot.

That knowledge leaves the honor tasting bittersweet on the back of his tongue. He tries to smile as his co-workers congratulate him and tell him he deserves it and ask what he will do with the three-dollar raise. He tells them he is going to save it, just like he does with his current paycheck, and none of them seem very satisfied with the answer, but they thankfully leave him be. He doesn’t want to talk about it with them. The first person he wanted to tell was Dean, but that is no longer an option.

This inspires the restless feeling that has Castiel wandering town after his shift ends. He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. What he really wants is to go for a run, but he doesn’t have the right shoes or clothes and he’s not willing to back to Bobby’s and change. He considers getting food, but just the thought that Dean wouldn’t be there to share it with stifles his appetite. So instead he walks and hopes he doesn’t run into anyone who would recognize him. He’s not sure they would. He hardly recognized himself after he completely shaved off his beard after five years of having one. He doesn’t miss it.

His wandering feet and despondent thoughts are stopped in their tracks by a familiar yell. It came from an alley to Castiel’s left and he doesn’t waste a second rushing after the fading echo. His eyes are slow to adjust to the thickly shadowed walls, but when they do they immediately find Dean, holding his bleeding nose in both hands and trying and failing to convince his feet to cooperate and chase after the shadowy figure running straight at Castiel.

Castiel’s reflexes serve him well and in an instant he has the man laid out flat and gasping for air beneath the vice-like grip Castiel has around his throat.

“You will not hurt Dean,” Castiel growls like thunder, and then realizes the face beneath him is familiar. “Metatron,” he growls, fighting the instinct to tighten his grip until Metatron’s eyes bulge from their sockets. The name gets Metatron’s attention and he looks at Castiel properly for the first time. A moment later, recognition sparks.

“Castiel,” he croaks and then laughs. Castiel tightens his grip until the laugh cuts off abruptly.

“Cas? What’s going on?”

Castiel snaps his head up from Metatron to look at Dean. He’s still holding his nose and his eyes are glassy like he has a concussion, but that’s all Castiel can see in the dim light of the alley.

“Dean, are you alright?”

“Aww how swe—,” Castiel silences Metatron once more and continues to stare worriedly at Dean.

“‘M fine. You know this douche? He stole my wallet,” Dean imparts as he wipes tenderly just beneath his nose.

Castiel turns to glare at Metatron until he rolls his eyes and tosses the wallet back in Dean’s direction.

“Happy?” he asks smarmily.

“No,” Castiel and Dean snap in unison.

Metatron rolls his eyes, despite his precarious situation.

“You were such easy pickings last time Castiel. What happened? I think I liked you better when you were still naive. And you were so trusting back then. I didn’t taint your idealistic view of the world did I?”

“Shut up,” Castiel growls.

“I did, didn’t I,” Metatron laughs. “Does your _Dean_ know where you come from? Does he know about your rich famous daddy and how he wasn’t good enough for you so you came into the shelters and stole resources from those of us who really needed them?”

“ _Shut_ _up_ ,” Castiel repeats. “I told you before I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh boo hoo,” Metatron mocks. “Your daddy didn’t love you like you wanted him to to. Newsflash pretty boy, the story’s old. Get some new material.”

“Hey Meta- _douche_ ,” Dean suddenly interjects from beside Castiel. “How about you shut the fuck up. You’re not the one with the higher ground here. But don’t worry, the cops will be here soon enough,” he says, jiggling his lit phone jauntily for Metatron to see.

Without warning, Metatron lurches up at Castiel and he barely catches the glint of a blade before he falls back to avoid it. Metatron takes the opportunity to scramble to his feet and dart for the mouth of the alley, but Dean is faster and Metatron is disarmed and unconscious on the ground before Castiel can track the scuffle.

“Shit,” Dean mutters, fingers checking the side of Metatron’s neck. “Didn’t think I hit him that hard. He’s still alive.”

Castiel gets stiffly to his feet. He landed rather hard on his tailbone when he fell back and he knows he’ll be feeling it for the next few days, but he’s also learned to compartmentalize and ignore certain discomforts. His attention is drawn instead to the squawking coming from Dean’s forgotten phone lying a few feet away on the ground. Castiel picks it up and puts it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Is anyone injured?” a male voice on the other line asks immediately. Castiel contemplates how to answer for a moment, head tilted to the side. Technically they are all somewhat injured.

“Nothing life threatening,” he decides on.

“Do you need an ambulance?”

“Maybe. Our attacker is unconscious. My...” Castiel falters and his face falls as he remembers once more. How could he have forgotten? “My acquaintance hit him in the head after he came after me with a knife.”

Castiel is suddenly very tired and doesn’t feel much like talking anymore. He wordlessly passes the phone to a bewildered Dean without looking at him. He’ll wait at the mouth of the alley and give his statement to the police and then he will take his leave of this place and go back to Bobby’s. He wants nothing more than a warm bed and a full night of sleep. He stands rather than sit and soon Dean comes up beside him.

“They’re two minutes out and they told us to not touch the knife, they’ll handle all of that when they get here.”

“Okay.” Castiel can’t look at him so he watches the cars drive past instead and strains his ears for the telltale scream of a siren.

“That was badass dude, the way you too him down. Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Castiel sighs.

“Older brothers can be cruel and life on the streets more so,” he says quietly. “I only did what was necessary. I do not enjoy hurting people.”

“No, yeah, I know you don’t. It was just… I didn’t even see you coming and then, bam! He’s on the ground and you’re pinning him by his throat. Totally badass,” Dean gushes. Castiel doesn’t answer. He can see in his peripheral that Dean is staring directly at him, waiting to make eye contact, but Castiel can’t. He doesn’t understand why Dean is acting like nothing happened between them after weeks of silence. He doesn’t understand much of anything going on right now.

“Hey.”

The gentle press of Dean’s fingertips to Castiel’s elbow is like an electric shock and Castiel flinches away impulsively and looks at Dean, the light of the street lamp showering him in soft yellow. Their eyes catch and hold and Castiel is more confused than ever. Dean doesn’t look angry with him or awkward or uncomfortable. He looks exactly like he always does when he looks at Castiel. When they’re on the couch in front of the TV, arguing over pizza, debating the best way to patch a wall, talking or sitting in silence; he looks at him fondly with a softness that Castiel typically only sees directed at Sam.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asks, voice no more than a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Dean answers, and then his lips curl into a sloppy drunken smile. Castiel frowns and realizes that he mistook the signs of a concussion in the dark alley for what he now believes are the side effects of alcohol.

“You’re drunk,” he accuses blankly.

Dean’s grin widens. “Yeah. I’ve missed you.”

Castiel’s breath catches and his heart seizes in his chest and it’s so, so painful to step away. He can hear the sirens now.

“Don’t. Don’t you do that to me. Don’t say things that you will only take away in the morning.”

“Cas—,” Dean reaches out, but Castiel moves farther away, shaking his head and fighting the burn in the back of his throat.

“Don’t,” he chokes out.

Two police cars and an ambulance pull up, lights flashing. Everything passes by in a blur of blue uniforms and infinite questions, always with the flashing blue and red painting the world in strobe lights. Castiel finishes his explanation first, no doubt thanks to his sobriety, and goes to take his leave. He turns back to the officer at the last second and nods towards Dean.

“He’s drunk. Will you make sure he gets home okay?” he asks her.

She nods immediately.

“Of course. That’s my job. What about you? Do you have a car parked somewhere nearby?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“I take the bus. I’ll be fine,” he tries on a smile for her sake. She doesn’t seem completely convinced, but she lets him walk away and that’s enough for him. An hour later, he finally sinks into his bed and wishes that in the morning he wouldn’t remember any of this night.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

In the morning he remembers everything. He remembers Metatron’s slimy smile and the smell of his putrid breath. He remembers wanting to press down on his throat until his eyes rolled back and he was blessedly silent. He remembers Dean. He remembers the soft look in his eyes as he told Castiel that he missed him and he remembers the glassy drunken sheen to those eyes too.

He doesn’t work today, so he tries to occupy himself in the study, updating Singer Automotive’s various social media accounts and catching Bobby up on his accounting. He gets several text messages, but he ignores them all and eventually shuts off his phone all together. He doesn’t feel much like talking to anyone. He’s never been very good at putting on a show and he doesn’t need the questions.

“Cas?”

Castiel freezes behind the computer screen, eyes falling shut to avoid looking at who he knows is standing in the doorway He could never mistake him.

“Cas?” Dean asks again when Castiel doesn’t respond. Castiel forces his eyes open and watches Dean steadily. God, it hurts to see him.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asks, voice rough and uncompromising despite the mess going on inside his chest.

“I— I just wanted to make sure you were okay. After last night,” Dean adds, like Castiel could take his words to mean anything else.

“I’m fine,” he responds shortly.

“Good, good,” Dean says strangely. He can’t seem to decide what to do with his hands. He crosses them over his chest, then hangs them at his sides before finally stuffing them in his pockets and looking up at Castiel once more. Castiel stares impassively back.

“Is that all?” Castiel asks when the silence hangs too long.

“I— No. I just— Look,” Dean removes his hands from his pockets and holds them out towards Castiel palms up and stares down at them as though they hold the answers to why he is here. “I meant it.”

“What?” Castiel snaps, hash through his surprise. His heart rabbits in his chest. Dean couldn’t possibly…

“I have missed you,” Dean states boldly. “I’ve missed you since the moment I walked out the door.”

Castiel shakes his head, rejecting that statement. No.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he says. “Why then? Why? It’s been _months_ , Dean.”

Confusion and anger and hurt war each other in Castiel’s chest.

“I know and I— I’m sorry. I just, I’m not very good at admitting when I’m wrong.”

Castiel laughs. “No one is Dean. That’s not an excuse.”

“I know. I know it’s not,” Dean says, hurt and pleading. “Please Cas. Just... I’m sorry.”

“What does that even mean?” Castiel snaps. “You keep saying that, but I don’t know what it means.”

Dean blinks, startled. “It means I feel bad?”

Castiel doesn’t dignify that with a response, choosing instead to stare balefully.

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaims and then backtracks. “I mean I do, I just— why are you making this so hard?”

“Why did you cause it in the first place? Am I that disposable to you?”

“Dispos— No! Cas, we’re friends. I—,”

“Oh, friends!” Castiel laughs like it’s funny. “Is that all?”

“Best friends,” Dean corrects.

“Best friends,” Castiel echoes derisively. “Yes, of course.”

Dean sighs and runs a hand through his hair, mucking up the normally neat locks. “Alright fine. I don’t know what the hell we are okay? But you’re important to me Cas. I… I need you man.”

“That’s not good enough, Dean,” Castiel snaps and the splash of shocked hurt across Dean’s face echo in his heart. “You have to _want_ me too. You don’t get to do this to me. You don’t get to cut me out and then only let me back in once you start to ‘miss’ me. I won’t stand for it. _I deserve better_.”

Dean looks stunned. “I—, You’re right. I am such a piece of shit.”

Castiel growls in frustration and rises from his chair to get in Dean’s face.

“No, you’re not. Don’t you dare say that,” he snarls, jabbing Dean sharply in the chest with his index finger. “You’re a beautiful human being and you spread kindness and goodness everywhere you go. You’re so much more than you know.”

Dean throws his hands up narrowly missing Castiel’s face in the process as he stands well within Dean’s personal space, but Dean doesn’t step away and neither does he.

“What the hell do you want from me then!” Dean shouts.

“ _I don’t know!_ ” Castiel bellows back. “I want… I want you to be honest with me and honest with yourself! I want you to talk to me when something I do hurts you. I want to be valued and thought of as equal. I don’t want to be left behind anymore!”

Movement in the doorway catches both of their attention. It’s Bobby.

“Oh good, you’re both finally here,” he says with a nonchalance that can only precede something of vast un-pleasance. Dean seems to become aware of just how close they’re standing now that there’s an audience and he steps back, but Castiel just glares at Bobby waiting for the shoe to drop. “My roof needs redone and there’s not supposed to be rain for another week. I suggest ya’ll make sure it’s done before then.”

“But Bobby—,” Dean starts and Bobby’s sharp glare stops him in his tracks.

“Don’t you argue with me boy. I told you last time to cut out the pre-teen bullshit and here we are again. My roof needs fixed and so does the two of you. If you don’t like it then next time don’t let it lie so long.”

With that said, Bobby stomps back down the stairs with twin glares aimed at his back.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

They don’t speak as they gather supplies and set up the ladder. In fact, they’re halfway through removing the shingles on the north side before anything is said at all. Dean is fixing a patch where the wood is warped when his hammer misses the nail and smashes his thumb into the roof instead.

“Son of a _bitch_!”

Castiel carefully walks over to him and kneels down beside him. Dean glares off in the distance, his injured thumb between his teeth.

“Let me see it,” Castiel insists gently.

“It’s fine,” Dean grunts shortly.

Castiel clenches his jaw and gets to his feet.

“Fine. Sorry I bothered.” He’s halfway across the roof when Dean sighs.

“Cas, wait.”

Cas stops, but doesn’t turn. “What?”

“I’m—,” Dean cuts himself off and sighs again, no doubt stopping another senseless ‘sorry’ from falling from his lips. “Listen, I know I fucked up okay? I shouldn’t have done that to you and I regretted it the second I stepped out that door and I should have turned around right then and done whatever I had to to fix it, but I didn’t. I shouldn’t have dragged it out this long and I know it’s all on me. You’re… You’re important to me and I should’ve treated you like it.”

Castiel turns and finds Dean still sitting, looking up at Castiel, completely miserable. It tugs his heart in all the ways he wishes it wouldn’t.

“What about Sam?” he asks. Dean’s face crinkles in confusion.

“What about him?”

“You’re hurting him too.”

Dean releases a breath and crushes his eyes shut.

“Yeah, I know,” he says quietly. He scrubs a hand roughly over his forehead before looking back up at Castiel. “I’m trying. I didn’t yell at him or anything, but God it’s hard and he can tell. Sam can always tell. I don’t know what to do.”

Castiel hesitates, but then resolves himself and makes a decision. He retraces his steps and sinks down to sit beside Dean, covering a wince as his bruised tailbone settles on the hard wood of the roof.

“He only needs to know that you support him in whatever he chooses to do. He needs to know that you’re proud.”

“I _am_ proud Cas. I’m so damn proud I don’t know what to do with it all. But I’m so damn scared. What if he never comes back?”

“Have you told him you’re proud of him? Were you sincere?” Castiel probes gently.

Dean opens his mouth and then closes it and shakes his head.

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“He needs to hear it, Dean. He probably already knows deep down, but knowing and seeing it for yourself are two different things. You need to tell him and you probably need to tell him more than once.”

“Yeah okay,” Dean sighs.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Castiel continues after a moment. “God knows I didn’t handle Anna being so far away very well.”

“How do you stand it?” Dean asks, face open and unguarded for once, allowing Castiel to see every lick of insecurity and terror and unworthiness. Castiel’s hand is cupping Dean’s cheek before he even realizes that he wanted to. Dean leans into the touch and the tension that’s been clawing at them falls away, leaving them raw and injured, but healing. Castiel removes his hand and Dean chases after it before letting it fall away.

“It helps that I know she’s better off now than she ever was in my father’s house. Better off than she would be here with me,” he adds, words bitter on his tongue.

“That’s not true,” Dean says firmly. “I thought we were being honest.” The corners of his lips flick up into a wry, shy smile and Castiel falls all over again.

“That is honestly how I feel,” he says. Dean scoffs.

“Well that explains it,” he mutters.

“Explains what?”

“Why we go so good together,” Dean says causing Castiel’s heart to flip. “We’re both fucked in the head.”

Castiel scowls. “You’re not fucked in the head.”

Dean smirks. “That is honestly how I feel,” he mimics. Castiel glares, but says nothing. He can’t when Dean uses his own words against him. They sit for a long time, watching the sun sink in the sky and enjoying their first taste of peace since their fallout.

“I really have missed you, you know,” Dean says softly, tapping the back of Castiel’s hand like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch again yet.

Castiel catches his hand and then says down to their intertwined fingers, “I missed you too.”

Over the next week they work together to replace the shingles and repair their relationship. Castiel tells Dean about his promotion and his mixed feelings about it. Dean tells Castiel that Sam officially accepted a place at Stanford and he’ll be moving into his new dorm in August and Dean is nowhere near ready to let him go, but Jess will be there and that makes him feel at least a little better that someone out there will have his back.

Castiel reminds him that Gabriel’s bakery is in Palo Alto and he can keep an eye on Sam too. Dean groans and throws down his stack of shingles and complains that Castiel only made it worse. Castiel kisses the side of his forehead and watches Dean momentarily forget his worries as he blushes brilliantly.

After Dean asks about what Metatron had been talking about, Castiel tells him about his father, better known to Dean and the general populace as Senator Novak. Dean is flabbergasted to say the least.

“So wait. You’re telling me that you’re _related_ to that douchey old homophobe?”

Castiel explains how he had trusted Metatron once and told him where he came from only to wake up one morning with all of his belongings missing and somehow the entire shelter knew of Castiel’s lineage. After that he stopped using his last name, but it was too late. Word spreads fast in and between shelters and soon there was no place Castiel was welcome.

“They can’t do that though. They have to let you in.”  
“It wasn’t the administration, Dean. The other patrons were so hostile I knew I wasn’t safe there. I couldn’t sleep for fear of waking up with a knife in my back or my throat slit.”

“So that’s why you were in the playplace.”

Castiel smiles at the memory, the beautiful green eyed man who lied to his coworker to protect Castiel and then simultaneously kicked him out and gave him sanctuary.

“Yes Dean.”

By the end of the week they are more in sync than they’ve ever been and Castiel knows Dean Winchester better than he’s known.

Two weeks later, Sam graduates high school and Dean, Castiel, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and Charlie are all there to cheer obnoxiously as he walks across the stage, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as Jo’s air horn echoes and nearly drowns out their voices. After the ceremony and, “a fucking lifetime of old fogies talking out their asses, Cas” they find Sam in a sea of blue and bronze, his cap held in the same hand as his diploma. Dean crashes into him and hugs him so hard something cracks, but Sam is clutching Dean back just as tightly.

“I’m so damn proud of you,” Dean murmurs, voice tear strained.

Castiel overhears and makes himself busy turning on his camera. They’ll need photos to immortalize the occasion. He manages to snap a shot of the moment just before Dean turns around and catches him.

“Delete that!”

“No. I like it,” Castiel refuses. Dean pounces and they spend the next minute fighting over the camera before Ellen gets fed up with their antics and separates them.

That night they all go to the Roadhouse, Ellen’s bar and grill, and celebrate all things Sam. Sam smiles so hard the whole night that Castiel is sure he got stuck like that somewhere near halfway through. When Castiel returns with Bobby that night, he retires to his room and spends over an hour going through all of the pictures on his camera. He took most of them, but there are several he hasn’t seen that must be from when Charlie stole it from him at the Roadhouse.

He lingers on one of him and Dean for a very long time. They’re sitting on the same side of the booth, Dean’s arm draped around Cas’s shoulders and his cheeks warm from the alcohol, but he’s smiling down at Cas like he’s surprised he’s there and pleased beyond reason. As for Castiel, he is completely oblivious, focused on Sam across from them and smiling like he’s never had a single care in the world and like he could never want anything else for the rest of his life. And Castiel realizes… He doesn’t.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**.**

**— Dean —**

**.**

Things are weirdly good. So good that Dean feels like he spends all of his time tip toeing around waiting for the other shoe to drop. Things are fixed with him and Cas and better than ever. He supposes that Sam leaving is the bad thing that he’s waiting for. He knows it’s coming, currently months away, but bearing down on him like a hurricane that he’s not sure he’ll be able to weather. Knowing Cas is on his side helps a little, but the fear is still there and it’s got nowhere to go, but to rage under his skin.

It’s June 27th, 2015, a Saturday, when things change.

Dean and Cas are sitting together on Bobby’s ratty old sofa, each with their own cup of coffee as they try to wake up and start the day, a normal Friday morning save the fact that they’re starting the day together. Dean had inadvertently stayed the night when they’d fallen asleep together on the couch watching Dean’s Firefly boxset. Cas fell in love with the show, the characters, the plot, everything, within minutes of the first episode and Dean couldn’t bear to turn it off and call it a night once they got started.

And while there aren’t many sex scenes to begin with, a perk of having the DVDs is that they can just fast forward through the few that there are. He worried at first that it would ruin it for Cas, but he hadn’t seemed bothered in the least and thanks to Dean’s near encyclopedic memory of the show, they jumped past those scenes before they could even get started.

That morning they’d woken up, curled together on the couch with a mysterious blanket thrown over them that hadn’t been there the night before and a text from Sam on Dean’s phone letting him know that Bobby had informed him Dean wouldn’t be making it home and not to worry, he would just take the bus to school.

It’s new and strange sitting together in the early morning light, shared blanket over their laps and sleepy gazes that linger on the other too long. Dean gets to experience first-hand just how grumpy Cas is before fully caffeinated and how hard it is to convince him to function before the sun has cleared the horizon line. At least they have their coffee as they sit in a warm comfortable silence as the morning news plays out mostly ignored in front of them. Well, ignored only until what it’s broadcasting seeps into Dean’s brain a little more fully and then suddenly the television has his undivided attention.

“Huh,” he says, for lack of anything better. Dimly he thinks he should be jumping for joy or maybe even laying a sloppy wet one on Cas. Instead he just sits dumbly on the couch and stares at the rainbow flag waving from the other side of the TV screen.

“What?” Cas croaks, only removing his nose from his coffee mug long enough to utter the single word.

“That,” Dean gestures to the TV, replaying the news from the day before that they missed during their Firefly bing. Cas slowly turns his head to follow the movement and stares blankly at the screen. Dean sees it, the moment Cas catches on. He watches Cas’s gaze sharpen and the last clinging wisps of sleep finally vanish.

“Oh,” is all he says, but Dean sees the minuscule hint of a smile curling the corner of his lips before Cas is sipping from his mug once more. You’d think same-sex marriage becoming legal would have a larger effect on a gay man, but Dean knows Cas well enough to know how deeply happy he is without any extravagant outward displays. He sees it in the little things: the little smile, the content way he slumps back into the couch, and how his bare toes curl into the cushion before Cas tweaks the blanket to cover them once more.

He makes quite the picture, Cas. The faint early morning sunlight softens his complexion, making him appear softer and lighter than he truly is. His almost black hair is fluffy and spiked upon his head and begging Dean to tangle his fingers in it with reverence. Cas turns to face him and Dean sucks in a quiet breath when their eyes connect.

There’s just something about Cas’s eyes… They’re gorgeous, obviously; a blue so clear and pure and perfectly reminiscent of clear autumn afternoons walking in the cool air with brilliantly colored leaves falling around you and the smell of earth and cold filling your nose, of sunny summer days spent driving with the windows down, of the clear blinding winter sky after a fresh nighttime snowfall, or cloudless spring mornings with new life blooming all around you the second you step out the front door. They’re amazing. They’re perfect.

But there’s something else, something uniquely Cas. It’s the feeling Dean gets when Cas looks at him like he is now. Like he sees past all of Dean’s defenses, straight through all of the red herrings Dean throws up to hide his true self from the world around him. It’s like despite all of Dean’s bullshit, Cas sees _him_. It’s like with just a glance he can see through to Dean’s soul and everything that he is, and is not, and wishes he could be. It makes Dean feel stripped bare and _seen_ in all the best and all the worst ways.

“Dean?” Cas says and Dean blinks as something clicks. It’s less like being struck by a bolt of lightning and more like something’s been moved out of his way that was so large and overbearing that he didn’t realize it was there until it was gone. And now that he can see clearly it’s just so obvious. It’s glaring and indubitable and he can’t let it slip away unexplored, he can’t miss his chance.

“We should get married,” Dean says without preamble.

Cas blinks once, but if he’s surprised or thrown off at all he hides it well.

“Okay,” he says slowly, head tipped to the side as he surveys Dean, eyes raking over his face as though searching for something, some sign. “When?” he asks.

Dean blinks and then blinks again as he tries to bring himself back into life as he knew it when he woke up this morning. “Uh, I’m off Tuesday?”

Cas shakes his head.

“No, I have to work the two to eight shift Tuesday.”

“Thursday after three?” Dean offers. Cas thinks it over for a moment and then nods.

“Thursday works,” he agrees.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

A slow smile slips across Cas’s face and his face shines with warmth.

“I’m going to shower,” Cas says and slides out from under the blanket as he gets to his feet. He’s careful to place his half of the blanket over the couch where it won’t pull Dean’s half from his lap.

“Okay,” Dean says. He makes no move to stand and instead follows Cas’s every move with his eyes. Despite this, it takes Dean a long second to realize that Cas is leaning over him, carefully cradling his coffee mug so as not to spill, because he plans to kiss him. Dean manages to get it together at the last second, he tips his chin up to meet Cas’s lips with his own and his eyes flutter closed.

Their first kiss is warm and soft and over much too quickly. Cas’s pulls away and a small sigh escapes Dean before he can even think to stop it. His eyes blink back open and Cas is still there, smiling gently. He strokes a hand down Dean’s cheek and Dean leans into the touch.

“You should start getting around as well,” Cas says softly. “You know how Bobby gets when you keep him waiting.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, voice hoarse. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Cas repeats and then he straightens and regretfully lets his hand fall from Dean’s cheek before he turns away and heads up the stairs, coffee in hand. Dean stares after him long after he’s out of sight, not quite able to reconcile the events of this morning with how they started.

“It’s about time you damn idjits stopped dancin’ ‘round each other,” Bobby’s gruff voice comes from the doorway leading to the kitchen. Dean swivels to face him and wonders a moment how long he’s been standing there. Probably not long enough to have heard Dean’s proposal, given he hasn’t ripped Dean a new one yet.

“Cas and me are getting married,” Dean blurts.

“Excuse me?” Bobby spits. Dean doesn’t even flinch at the tone. He’s feeling a bit numb to be honest.

“We’re getting married. On Thursday.”

“You’re shitting me,” Bobby deadpans. “That ain’t even legal in Kansas. Where’re you plannin’ to go?”

“It is now,” Dean says with a little nod to the still chattering television. “Federal law got passed yesterday.”

Bobby glances briefly at the TV before fixing Dean with his very best no nonsense glare.

“Just cuz gay marriage gets legalized don’t mean you go and tie the knot with the first warm willin’ body housing a prick you let your eyes on.”

“Same-sex marriage,” Dean corrects automatically.

“What?”

“It’s— There’s a difference,” Dean stammers. “I mean, I’m gay right? But really I’m bisexual so I could marry a chick and it’d still technically be gay marriage even though it’s a man and a woman, but If I marry a dude it’s gay marriage and same-sex marriage…” Dean trails off when he registers the look on Bobby’s face. _God_ , he’s spent too much time listening to Sam.

“I don’t care what in the hell you wanna call it! The point still stands!”

Dean opens his mouth and then closes it again, realizing he has no idea what to say. He doesn’t really have a defense here. Is he in love with Cas? He could be. Maybe. Definitely at least a little. Probably.

Does he think him and Cas will stay together forever? _God_ he hopes so. All he has is a gut feeling and that swell of happiness and contentment he gets when he’s with Cas. He doesn’t know how to put that into words and he doesn’t know how to use that to build up a case for them. He just… he _wants this_. He wants Cas.

“ _Balls_ ,” Bobby exasperates with an axis tilting eye roll when Dean doesn’t respond. “Never mind. You idjits are perfect for each other.”

Bobby stomps across the kitchen back the way he came and the back door slams behind him on his way out. Dean watches him go and can’t help but wonder how Bobby could make that sound both like an insult and his blessing at the same time. Above Dean the shower kicks on so Dean reluctantly leaves the warm blanket behind on the couch to go refill his coffee and get ready for his day working in the garage.

It’s not until hours later when Dean is in the middle of welding a crack in an exhaust system for an old Ford pickup that his actions truly sink in. With a pit in his stomach he turns off the torch on the welder and tosses off his helmet.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with me?”

Bobby lifts his head from where he’s hunched over the engine compartment of a Pontiac.

“Hell if I know,” he grumbles. “Cold feet already?”

But Dean doesn’t hear him, wrapped up as he is in his current crisis. The thick gloves come off next and make a loud _slap_ when they hit the concrete.

“Oh my God!” he exclaims, eyes wide with horror. He roughly drags a hand through his hair. “I proposed, shit, I proposed to him on _your_ ratty old sofa!” He exclaims, stabbing an accusatory finger at Bobby. “What the fuck? I didn’t even… I didn’t even ask, Bobby! Fuck! I just, ‘ _We should get married_ ’. Who the hell does that? Shit, he’s gonna hate me. Why did he even say yes? What’s wrong with _him_?”

Bobby stares at him, his hand still holding a wrench hovering over a forgotten bolt.

“ _That’s_ what you’re wiggin’ out over?” he barks, and his beard twitches in that way it does when he’s trying not to laugh.

“Yes!” Dean shouts, flapping his arms wildly. “Oh my God, what am I gonna tell our kids?”

“D’you even know if he wants kids?” Bobby grunts. The question is hypothetical in delivery, but it gives Dean pause.

“Huh. I dunno. I’ll have to ask. I’m sure, you know, it’ll be fine. If he’s really against it then I’ll still be the cool Uncle Dean to Sam’s kids, cuz let’s face it, we all know he’s gonna be the one to marry a smokin’ housewife and have the two point five kids and twelve dogs,” Dean muses.

Bobby stares.

“I think yer daddy musta dropped you on your head as a baby,” he grunts, “More than once.” He then sighs heavily and sweeps his cap from his head, rubs at his scalp, and then replaces the cap. “Balls. Alright, listen up.”

Dean jerks out of his thoughts and turns his attention to his uncle.

“If all you’re worried about in this whole business is how the askin’ happened, then do us all a favor and get over yourself,” Bobby orders.

“What?” Dean frowns.

“Get over it! Who cares?” Bobby bursts. “What’s done is done and he said yes, didn’t he?” Dean nods. “Then what’s it matter? The two of you looked plenty happy when I walked in on ya, so why are you borrowin’ trouble in worrin’ about somethin’ that you can’t do a thing to fix?”

Dean scuffs his boot, a deep frown marring his face as he stares unseeing at the floor as he thinks it over. Bobby’s got a point. He can’t do anything about it now and Cas did say yes. Still, Dean just wishes he would have thought it through a bit, made it special. Cas should know how special he is and Dean dropped the ball on that. Again.

“Look son,” Bobby sighs heavily looking like he’d rather be getting a colonoscopy than having this conversation. “If you’re that worried about it then why don’t you make it up to him by doin’ something special at the wedding. Surprise him somehow.”

“By doing what?” Dean asks, completely blank on ideas. They’re getting married in just under a week and the “wedding”, as Bobby called it, will probably just be a trip to the courthouse. What could he possibly do?

“How in the hell should I know? Do I look like a wedding consultant to you?” Bobby barks. “Now get back to work. I got payin’ customers waitin’ on you and ain’t nobody got time for your little Armageddon. And for God’s sake, make sure you tell your brother before he finds out somehow else.”

Dean does as he’s told, but he’s distracted for the rest of the day. When five o'clock comes it’s a relief to strip off his coveralls and hang up his welder. He needs to go home and talk to Sam, but first he has a very important question to ask Cas.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**_._ **

**_— Castiel —_ **

**_._ **

“Cas?”

“In here,” Castiel responds distractedly, typing into the text box on the screen in between brief glances at the notebook resting on the desk and the handwritten blurb that he’s currently transcribing.

“Hey buddy,” Dean appears around the corner of the office doorway. “You know it’s after five, right?”

“One moment,” Castiel mumbles and squints at the notebook once more before typing out the final few words and shoving the notebook out of his workspace now that he’s done with it. On the screen, he reads through the two paragraph blurb on what the colors of the smoke coming out of your exhaust can tell you about your car’s issues three times before he deems it free of errors and finally hits “Post”.

Once he’s done that he leans back in his seat with a loud creak of protest from the old chair and rubs his eyes wearily. There are many things to be said about sitting in front of a computer all day, and most of them are not good.

Warm hands cautiously come to rest on his shoulders and then begin rubbing slow circles into his tense muscles. Castiel moans and falls forward until his forehead finds the desk with a _thunk_. Dean chuckles behind him and works his thumbs a bit harder into Castiel’s shoulders.

“I should be doing this for you,” Castiel mumbles, but makes no attempt to stop Dean. “You’re the one with a physically demanding job.”

Dean scoffs. “And you’re the one sitting hunched over a desk all day. At least I get to move around. You really should take more breaks.”

Castiel’s response is lost and drowned out by a loud groan as Dean locates a knot just under Castiel’s left shoulder blade and begins digging into it with his elbow.

“Oowwww,” he whines as he simultaneously tries to move away from the unrelenting pressure, and hold still so that the knot is worked out. Dean pauses.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare,” Castiel growls, although the integrity of is it threatened by the way his voice cracks. Dean laughs a bit and resumes. He carries on until the knot is gone and Castiel is jelly, slumped against the desk and seriously contemplating sleeping there.

“Hey Cas?” Dean asks, working his fingers gently along Castiel’s spine in what has devolved from a massage to more of a gentle caressing, not that Castiel is going to complain. It still feels wonderful.

“Hmmm?”

Dean’s hands smooth down Castiel’s t-shirt and they’re warm through the thin fabric.

“I was, uh, I had a question,” Dean hesitates.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel prompts when Dean falls into silence, but doesn’t open his eyes.

“I just… D’you want kids? Someday I mean?” Dean asks, his hands going still about midway down Castiel’s back.

“I don’t know,” Castiel mumbles. “I am not opposed to children. They’re… fine. Do you want to have kids, Dean?”

“Well, I mean, yeah. I always figured if I found someone desperate enough to get hitched to me that we’d have kids,” Dean says, his hands still and tense where they sit heavy on Castiel’s back.

“How many?”

“What?”

“How many children should we have, Dean?”

“I uh— I dunno. Like three?”

Castiel hums in disapproval.

“Better make it four. I don’t like uneven numbers.”

“I— what? What are you talking about?”

“How many children we should have. I thought that was obvious.”

“But I— You said—,”

“I said I wasn’t opposed to having children and you said you desire children. To me, that makes it a rather easy decision. We will be having children.”

“You said you didn’t know,” Dean stubbornly points out and Castiel sighs.

“Because I haven’t really thought about it before. I want you to be happy, Dean. If children will make you happy then it is no sacrifice on my end,” Castiel states as simply as one might state that the Earth revolves around the sun.

“Oh,” Dean says quietly and then nothing. Castiel frowns.

“Have you tired of touching me?” he asks. The question has the desired response as Dean laughs gently and begins to move his hands in soothing circles once more.

“Never.” A smile sneaks onto Castiel’s lips at the declaration. “I do have to go soon though. Gotta tell Sam about Thursday. The big sap’ll want to be there and I’m pretty sure we need witnesses or whatever anyway so…”

Castiel hums again and his smile is replaced with a light frown.

“I suppose I should tell Gabriel and Anna as well.”

Dean squeezes Castiel’s shoulders and Castiel can practically feel the sour look he’s sure Dean is sporting.

“He’s gonna try to kill me, isn’t he?”

“Fear not. I will not allow any harm to come to you,” Castiel promises.

“My hero,” Dean intones dryly. “I do gotta get going, though. Promise you’re not gonna sleep like this and undo all my hard work? Your bed is literally on the other side of the wall.”

Castiel grumbles wordlessly, but forces his upper body into an upright position.

“Better?”

“Perfect,” Dean says and leans over Castiel’s shoulder and presses a swift kiss to Castiel’s cheek. Castiel’s heart leaps in his chest at the action that, while a surprise, is not an unwelcome one. Castiel swivels his chair around until he’s facing Dean and ignores the mild expression of panic on his face and instead leans forward and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, pressing his cheek to Dean’s warm belly. Dean hesitates, but then wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and holds him close.

“When…” Castiel trails off, unsure of how to ask the question without sounding clingy or needy. He needn’t have worried.

“Tomorrow I’ve got first shift at McDonald’s and then close at the CoffeeHouse, but on Monday I only have to open the CoffeeHouse so we can… I dunno, do something after I’m off. If you want,” he adds quickly.

Castiel presses his face more firmly into Dean’s belly and gives him a reassuring squeeze.

“That sounds wonderful,” he tells him. “We should do something with Sam. You don’t get to see him enough.”

Dean is quiet for a long stretch of seconds while he holds Castiel tightly. Finally, he loosens his hold and Castiel leans back to look up at his face. There’s a strange expression there. He’s looking at Castiel like he’s never quite seen anything like him before.

“If you wish,” Castiel adds, suddenly afraid he’s done something wrong.

Dean scoffs and shakes his head. “You’re… You’re something else, Cas. Course I wanna hang out with you and Sam.”

“Okay,” Castiel says slowly, frowning because Dean still has that strange look on his face and he’s staring at Castiel.

“Can I kiss you?” Dean asks gently.

“Please do,” Castiel says, voice inexplicably hoarse.

Their second kiss is just as soft and sweet as their first, if a bit more lingering. Castiel leans forward to chase after Dean’s lips as he pulls away, but eventually they lose contact as Dean straightens back up and Castiel is left sitting in the office chair. Dean’s pupils are wide and dark and it’s the most attractive thing Castiel has ever seen on a human being, ever.

“I gotta go talk to Sam,” Dean says, like he’s reminding himself.

“Yes,” Castiel replies.

“Right. So I’ll just—,” Dean knocks his knee into the edge of the desk as he makes for the doorway.

“Dean, wait,” Castiel says. He stands from his chair and closes the few feet between them rapidly.

“Yeah?”

Castiel catches Dean mid-turn with hands on either side of his face and warm, plush lips crushing against his. Dean sucks in a sharp breath and Castiel releases his, sighing into the kiss as they work their lips together tenderly.

Too soon, Castiel pulls back and licks his lips as his eyes rake over Dean’s face. He’s staring at Castiel also, his eyes wide and his lips pink and wet. Castiel cannot resist and leans in once more to capture those lips with his own only for a moment before pulling back.

“I look forward to Monday,” he says almost as an afterthought.

Dean blinks several times and takes a step back. Castiel lets his hands fall.

“Right. Monday. Yeah, me too, Cas,” he says. A shy smile curls his lips and Castiel can’t help but wonder at it. It’s a rare private thing to witness a shy Dean Winchester.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

“Bye, Cas.”

Dean lingers a moment longer and then smiles again and ducks his head before disappearing out the doorway. Castiel stands beside the desk for several long seconds and then drops back into his chair, his mind nowhere near his office tasks, and probably closer in proximity to the low growl of the Impala’s engine as she fires up in the drive and then grows more distant as the seconds pass.

It takes several minutes before Castiel remembers to close out of Facebook and shut down the desktop.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Sam calls him not even an hour later.

“I understand this is the part where you ensure that I love him enough to satisfy your expectations and threaten me bodily harm if I hurt him,” Castiel says in lieu of a greeting.

Sam snorts into the speaker. “Dude, where have you been? I did that day one in Bobby’s office. You two were the only ones who didn’t see where this was headed from the get go.”

“...Oh.”

“Anyway, I called to say congratulations. Me personally, I might have tried dating first, but that’s basically what you and Dean have been doing the past year anyway. You just haven’t called it that, so I’m not going to get hung up on semantics.”

“Umm, thank you?” Castiel responds, uncertain that he caught on to the purpose behind Sam’s statement. Sam sighs through the phone and Castiel braces himself.

“Okay look,” Sam starts. “I have been a destiel supporter since—,”

“A what?” Castiel interrupts.

“Oh that’s what Charlie started calling you guys. Dean plus Castiel is destiel. _Anyway_ , I’ve been 100% behind you guys getting together since day one so don’t think I don’t want you together and happy, it’s just that… Don’t you think this is a little rushed? Like you guys are getting _married_ in less than a week.”

“Perhaps it is,” Castiel concedes. “But there isn’t another soul that I want to spend the rest of my life with, so why not?”

“I’m not saying don’t marry him! I’m just saying give it some time.”

“For what? To see if I’ll change my mind? To see if Dean will change his mind? If this wasn’t something I hadn’t already considered and realized I wanted, I never would have said yes, Sam. And I’ve never known Dean to jump into something that involves expressing feelings until he’s been backed into a corner and given no other choice. There’s no point in waiting. We want this. Why _not_ do it as soon as possible?”

“Okay, alright. Sorry. But, have you guys even talked about what it’ll be like to be married? Dean just proposed this morning and from what little I can get out of him, it was a spur of the moment kind of thing.”

“It was,” Castiel says, a smile creeping across his lips as he remembers watching the decision form of Dean’s face. He didn’t know in that moment what it was, but he knew that whatever Dean was resolving himself to, he would not be swayed from. It was a pleasant surprise that the thing was making Cas _his_. “It was perfectly Dean and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. We did decide that we want four children and Dean confessed that he would never tire of touching me.”

“Oh okay, gross. Ugh. TMI Cas,” Sam complains. “Alright. Okay fine. _Fine_. I guess. I’m really happy for you guys. I am.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel says more warmly this time.

He and Sam disconnect and Castiel supposes it’s time to tell his own family. In the end, he decides a simple text should suffice.

_Dean and I are getting married on Thursday. If you can make it down I’d love for you to be there, but it is not necessary_.

_Done_ , he thinks. Almost immediately he gets a text back from Gabriel.

**WUT?? U SAID U WERNT DATING!**

Oh. Anytime Gabriel actually uses punctuation it never turns out well. Before Castiel can open the text to respond, a picture of Anna that he stole from her Facebook fills his screen and his ringtone begins to play. Then Gabriel starts beeping in, clearly dissatisfied with Castiel lack of answer.

Perhaps a simple text was not the best method after all.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

The week flies by, interspersed with text messages from Gabriel and Anna giving him advice and asking questions and expressing how sorry they are that they won’t be able to make it down on such short notice and then the almost constant chorus of “ _Are you sure_ ” from nearly everyone Castiel knows. It’s beginning to aggravate him.

Luckily, Monday is spent with Dean and Sam. Though Sam gives them strange looks for the first hour and seems to be constantly scrutinizing their interactions as though looking for something that’s changed, Castiel enjoys their time.

Through the days leading up to Thursday, he texts Dean frequently. Slowly, they work out exactly how this will work. Well, not _exactly_ , but they develop a general game plan to at least get them _to_ the ceremony. It involves some unpleasant things like returning to his father’s house for his birth certificate and social security card so they can apply for the marriage license and once they are officially married, they’ll need them to go about changing Castiel’s last name from Novak to Winchester. He finds himself surprisingly excited at the prospect of finally being able to wholly abandon the Novak name.

Dean goes with him for moral support, but it turns out to be unnecessary. His father isn’t home and the gardener, Raul, recognizes Castiel and is more than happy to let him in to retrieve his things. Dean gazes around the pristine estate in awe and when Castiel returns with his paperwork he can read the look on Dean’s face like a familiar book.

“Don’t Dean. This place is not my home. It holds nothing for me but bad memories.”

“But this is where you grew up. With all of this…,” Dean gestures around at the immaculate foyer helplessly.

“They are only things, Dean,” Castiel says gently. “I have gained things of much greater value since leaving this place.”

“But how do you stand it? Going from this to Bobby’s shack?”

“This house was made to be seen and envied, not lived in. Besides, I went from illicitly sleeping in a McDonald’s to ‘Bobby’s shack’ as you so eloquently put it.”

Dean shakes his head and turns away, glaring at a small, rather hideous vase, sitting upon a pedestal and serving no purpose whatsoever.

“That doesn’t make a difference.”

Castiel places a hand on Dean’s shoulder and turns him back to face him and leaves his hand in place.

“It makes all the difference. Dean I—,” _I love you_ , he doesn’t say. Dean isn’t ready to hear that yet and Castiel can be patient. “I wouldn’t trade what I have found with you for anything the world could offer me; not for a million ostentatious mansions or three billion Armani suits or even my father’s acceptance.”

That seems to finally catch Dean’s attention; his eyes widen.

“It’s true. I wouldn’t,” Castiel presses. “He had his chance and I’ve moved on. He’s not worth my time.” _You are_.

Dean turns away again, frowning at the crown molding and the gleaming polished hardwood floors and the marble fireplace before he finally turns back to Castiel and takes him in in his torn ratty jeans that he picked out from the thrift store because they were the most comfortable ones he’d ever found and his bright purple Grape Crush t-shirt that he picked out solely because he liked the color. Afterward he tried the soda and found it rather unpleasant, but probably something that Gabriel would like.

Castiel hopes that Dean sees how little he fits into this place where he used to belong, and how fully he has embraced and immersed himself into this life he has built of his own.

“When did you turn into such an enormous sap?” Dean asks and Castiel breathes a silent sigh of relief, knowing that something he said must have gotten through.

“I’ve always been an enormous sap. I’ve been biding my time to reveal my true colors until you were in too deep to escape,” he deadpans. Dean barks a short laugh and jerks his head towards the door.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The rest of the week flies by. Before Castiel knows it he’s riding shotgun in Bobby’s old truck with the envelope containing their marriage certificate in his lap, trying not to fidget too much with his tie that just won’t sit right and hoping that this doesn’t take too long because he was so nervous he forgot to eat lunch and now he’s starving.

They park beside the empty Impala outside the courthouse and Bobby cuts the engine, but he doesn’t move to exit the vehicle. Instead he levels a stern look at Castiel and Castiel straightens under it and stares impassively back. Bobby sighs and shakes his head.

“I sure hope you boys know what you’re doing. For the record, you’ve got my blessing but I ain’t all that sure about this whole shotgun wedding deal.” Bobby pulls the handle and exits the truck without waiting for a response.

Castiel decides not to bother with one and follows silently after him. He’s tired of trying to convince people that he and Dean aren’t going to go down in flames over something as simple and nonconsequential as a piece of paper with their names on it. Anna, Gabriel, Sam, Charlie, Jo, Ellen, and even Sam’s friend Kevin told them they were crazy and doubted whether such an impromptu marriage was a good idea. They can all keep their opinions to themselves. So long as Dean is happy then Castiel is happy and it’s all worth it.

After he goes through security and steps into the courthouse proper his eyes immediately find Dean and Sam slumped on an uncomfortable looking settee. Dean’s eyes slide over to Castiel as though drawn to him and he clambers to his feet, nervously smoothing the front of his Henley as Castiel hurries over. Castiel stops in front of Dean and watches his lips quirk into a small smile as he takes in Castiel’s outfit.

“You look good,” Dean tells him, petting the tie hanging down Castiel’s chest. “I like the blue.”

Castiel smiles and glances down at the garment. It’s backwards again. “Thank you. I thought I’d surprise you.”

He’d gone out after applying for their marriage license for something to wear and quickly realized just how expensive everything is. He eventually settled on a plain white dress shirt (the colored and patterned ones were more expensive), a black suit that probably needs to be tailored, black dress shoes, and the solid blue tie.

“Here,” Dean says and steps into Castiel’s space to adjust the tie. Castiel tries not to hold his breath or stare too much at Dean’s face, inches from his own and furrowed in concentration. “That’s better,” Dean says and smooths it down. He glances up and everything seems to fall away except him and Dean.

“You look very nice as well,” Castiel tells him quietly. Dean huffs and plucks at his shirt.

“Not as nice as you,” he deflects.

“I disagree.”

Dean has always looked his best in jeans and a Henley, preferably his dark gray Henley, which just so happens to be what he is currently wearing.

“I umm, I bought you something,” Dean says, shuffling nervously from one foot to the other. “If you don’t like it just say so, cuz it’s not a big deal if you don’t. We can just—,”

“Dean, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s perfect.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean mutters as he digs his hand into his pocket and pulls something out. Castiel doesn’t look at it, instead he holds Dean’s gaze.

“Yes I do. If it’s from you it has to be.”

Dean snorts, but loses some of the anxiety clouding him.

“Geez Cas. When did you turn into such a cheese factory?”

“It probably has something to do with all of the serotonin being produced in my brain,” he says seriously.

“You’re so romantic.”

“It must be why we go so good together.”

Dean bites his lip and turns slightly pink, clearly aware of his recycled words being turned around at him.

“Whatever dude, just take it.”

Dean shoves something small and warm into Castiel’s palm and Castiel finally looks down at this “something” that Dean bought specifically for him and goes still.

“You bought me a ring.”

It’s thin and gold and plain and Castiel is right to think that anything from Dean is absolutely perfect because it is. He moves to slip it onto his finger, but Dean’s warm hands stop him.

“No yet.”

“But I want to see if it fits,” Castiel says, frowning and halfheartedly trying to free his hands.

“Just wait. Please?”

Dean is soft and earnest and impossible to defy.

“Fine,” Castiel relinquishes and then smirks. “Now who’s the romantic?”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t think to get you a ring. I spent everything on this suit,” Castiel says with a frown. He should have gotten Dean a ring. It would have been more meaningful than an outfit.

“Oh uh, I got one for me too,” Dean admits. “They had a buy one get one 40% off so I just… It seemed economical.”

Castiel grins.

“Let’s see it then.”

Dean ducks his head and they’re still standing so close that his carefully styled hair comes within an inch of brushing Castiel’s chin.

“It’s uh,” he fumbles in his pocket, “They match.”

Dean holds up an exact match of Castiel’s ring between his finger and thumb and Castiel’s heart melts in his chest. His throat closes up and he wants to tell Dean that they’re perfect just like he knew they would be, but he doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he leans in and presses his lips to Dean’s instead.

Someone clears their throat and Dean breaks away, much to Castiel’s disappointment.

“Are we getting this thing on the road or are we gonna stand around trading sweet nothings all afternoon?” Bobby barks.

Castiel narrows his eyes at him and catches the strange look on Sam’s face, similar to the one he wore most of Sunday, eyebrows furrowed, eyes sharp and taking in everything, like he’s baffled by something and waiting for another piece so he can finish assembling the puzzle. Castiel’s feels sorry for him and irritated by it at the same time. Why is it so hard to accept that he and Dean know what they are doing?

He can tell Sam is trying and he’s at least not flat out telling them they’ll crash and burn (thanks Anna), but Castiel can’t help but wonder how long he will look at them like that. How long until he accepts them and can celebrate their happiness with no holds barred. Outside of Dean, Sam is his best friend and he finds that he doesn’t like not having his support in something so precious to him. He realizes this must be something of what Sam feels about Dean’s reluctance to let him go to Stanford.

The ceremony itself is brief and to the point. The judge stands before Dean and Castiel as they hold each other’s hands and repeat the stock vows and Sam snaps pictures with Castiel’s camera behind them. They give each other the rings and Dean slides Castiel’s onto his finger smoothly. It’s only maybe a half-size too big, nothing Castiel can’t handle until his next paycheck and they can get it resized.

Dean’s fits him perfectly and Castiel feels warm and giddy seeing it there on his hand and knowing that it is a physical declaration of their bond for all the world to see and adhere to. Finally, they are instructed to kiss and they lean in, their lips only connect briefly before Dean draws back, his cheeks pink as he looks anywhere but at his relatives. Castiel doesn’t care. He can’t keep the grin off his face long enough to pucker his lips anyway.

Before they know it they’re back out in the parking lot hovering beside their vehicles uncertainly.

“So… What d’you want to do now?” Dean asks, staring down at Castiel’s ring finger, nonplussed. Castiel shrugs.

“Are you hungry?” he asks. Dean shoots him a look.

“I’m always hungry.”

“I forgot to eat lunch,” Castiel confesses. Dean rolls his eyes, all at once fitting back into his skin and on familiar ground.

“Let’s go get some burgers then.”

They all, save Bobby who has ‘shit to do because it’s the middle of the week for God’s sake’, go to the Roadhouse, two birds one stone and all that. Jo gushes over how cute they are sitting together on the same side of the booth and Castiel points out that it’s no different than they were a few weeks ago at Sam’s party. This seems to throw her for a loop and unfortunately provides an opportunity for Ellen to jump in and tell them how happy she is for them and that she hopes everything works out despite how they jumped the gun with their shotgun wedding.

Dean thanks her awkwardly while Castiel attempts to incinerate her with his eyes. Thankfully she leaves to put in their order after that and takes Jo with her.

“Quit being so sulky,” Dean orders with a light elbow to Castiel’s ribs after they’re out of earshot. Sam pretends to suddenly become engrossed in the dessert menu.

“No,” Castiel says, uncaring of his petulance as he twists his ring around and around, not used to the weight of it on his finger. “I’m tired of pretending to give a shit about their opinions and I’m tired of them throwing it at us every spare chance they get. I just want to be left alone.”

Dean shoots him a sympathetic look and shrugs.

“I hear you man, but what are you gonna do? That’s family for ya.”

“Well ‘family’ could stand to be a little more supportive and a lot less intrusive,” Castiel gripes.

Dean rolls his eyes and drops the subject and they sit in heavy silence for several minutes. Castiel is glaring across the room at nothing in particular when calloused fingers skitter along the back of his hand before slipping into the spaces between Castiel’s much smoother, less abused fingers. They continue on in silence, but the tension eases from Castiel’s shoulder and the deep lines in his forehead smooth.

“So I was thinking we start moving your stuff this weekend and then we can figure out where to mail stuff to get your name changed. I’d rather do it tonight or tomorrow, but I have to open the CoffeeHouse at five and you’re closing aren’t you?” Dean asks after several more minutes have passed. Castiel frowns and cocks his head at him. He completely ignores Dean’s question in lieu of asking his own.

“Where are we moving my things?” he asks. Dean startles.

“To the apartment,” he says. Castiel’s frown deepens in time with his confusion.

“To…” Everything clicks all at once and he straightens in his seat. “I didn’t marry you for a place to live.”

“What?” Dean squawks. “I know dude. It’s… It’s a _perk,_ man.”

“I don’t need charity. I’ve been saving up. I almost have enough for my own place and then I can-,”

“What the fuck, Cas?” Dean interrupts, anger clouding his tone and causing Castiel’s words to stick in his throat. “Like hell my… my _husband_ and I aren’t going to live in the same building. Alright?” Dean says, flushing a brilliant pink as he calls Castiel his husband for the first time. “So just… suck it up. It’s got nothing to do with charity.”

Castiel stares. He tries to think of something to say, but nothing comes to mind. Somehow he didn’t realize that as a married couple they would begin living together and anxiety creeps into his very bones at the thought. While he doesn’t believe living with Dean would be much of a hardship, he does have one rather prominent question.

“Where will I sleep?”

Castiel has never shared a room with anyone before, let alone a _bed_. Sleeping in the homeless shelters or the park doesn’t count because those were never restful nights. Ever. The closest he’s come was the night he and Dean fell asleep on the couch together the night before Dean proposed, and that wasn’t exactly the most comfortable sleep he’s ever had, though that could be the fault of the couch.

Dean blinks at him, jaw slack.

“Uhh,” he says and licks his lips, “I guess I could take the couch?”

They stare at each other, completely unsure of where to go from here. Dean can’t stay on the couch forever and what kind of married life would that be anyway? Castiel has never had a married couple to set a precedent for him before; his father has always been alone. And he doubts Dean remembers much of his parent’s married life considering how young he was when he lost his mother.

“Oh thank God.”

Sam’s exhaled exclamation breaks apart their gazes and turns them to fix on him instead.

“I was starting to think you guys had been body snatched. This was going way too well.”

Castiel’s temper is quick to flare up, but Dean’s seems to sense in and puts a hand on his knee to calm him. It works in the way that Castiel settles for scowling at Sam rather than biting his head off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean demands.

Sam looks uncomfortable and glances around like he’s looking for backup before resigning himself to enduring the conversation.

“We were just concerned—,” he starts, but Castiel’s tongue gets the better of him.

“Well _stop_.”

“Cas,” Dean exasperates and then turns back to Sam expectantly.

“Look,” Sam startles, leaning across the table, his face open and earnest. “It’s nothing against you guys, it’s just that we’ve been waiting for even a hint that you guys were stepping up your relationship for like, ever since you guys met basically. And now it’s all happening at once. You skipped from too close of best friends straight into _married_ and didn’t bat an eye and it was starting to freak us all out.”

“I don’t understand the problem,” Castiel snaps, un-swayed. Sam shoots him an apologetic look.

“Just… You guys never do anything the easy way,” Sam explains haltingly. “You fight ‘normal’ like it’s a virus, so I guess maybe we shouldn’t have been so surprised when you guys just up and decided to get hitched, but it _was_ a surprise and you two have been so damn… happy with each other lately that it’s just… It’s really reassuring to see you bicker over something and see that you don’t have it all nailed down or figured out.”

“I don’t get it,” Dean says.

“It’s reassuring that we _aren’t_ agreeing on something?” Castiel asks, incredulous. Sam laughs and swipes his hair out of his eyes.

“I know it sounds stupid, but it really is. I’m really happy that you guys are so happy, but it was like watching a soap opera and waiting for something catastrophic to come along and fuck everything up. It’s just… It seems more real now I guess. Gabe thought it was an elaborate prank,” Sam laughs again.

“Gabe? Wait you mean _Gabriel_?” Dean asks, face screwed up in distaste.

“I didn’t know you and Gabriel talk,” Castiel says, watching Sam flush pink with great interest.

“I— Jess gave him my number over Christmas,” he admits with a grimace. “Thought it’d be funny or something, but he’s really… not that bad,” he finishes weakly with a sheepish half smile.

Dean makes a sound of disgust in his throat and Castiel hums thoughtfully. The food arrives then and saves Sam from the awkward conversation. Castiel shovels down his burger in record time and Dean pokes fun at him saying something about him getting a head start on the “married 15”. Then Sam has to explain that couples tend to gain weight in their first year of marriage and once Castiel understands the reference he punches Dean in the shoulder for it. Dean only laughs and rests his hand on Castiel’s knee again. His _left_ hand. It feels good there, Castiel decides. And it doesn’t look bad either, he admits as he catches another flash of gold out of his peripheral.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

They get Castiel moved into Sam and Dean’s apartment that weekend. It really only takes an hour on Saturday to collect Castiel’s miniscule amount of possession (mostly clothing and books) and add them to Dean’s room. They arrive in the Impala and it’s, strangely, Castiel’s first time visiting their apartment. Not visiting, he corrects himself. This is his home now. It feels peculiar to call it that and he hopes it doesn’t take long for him to grow accustomed to it.

They’re carrying up his first load of things when the door across the hall opens and an older dark skinned woman steps out. She smiles at Dean and her eyes slide over to Castiel and her lips curve into an ‘O’ of surprise like she was expecting someone else.

“Well hello,” she says and flicks her gaze to Dean before resting back on Castiel. “Who’s this? A friend of yours? I’ve never seen anyone up here except your brother and his little friend, the anxious one. But never anyone for you. I was starting to think you didn’t have friends.”

“Ha ha,” Dean jokes with a smile and a roll of his eyes. “Mrs. Johnson this is Cas, uh Castiel, my husband.”

Dean only stumbles slightly over the new word and Castiel doesn’t fault him for it. It’s quite the adjustment, he’s discovering.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, but it’s drowned out by Mrs. Johnson joyous exclamation.

“Oh! You didn’t tell me you were engaged!” she chastises Dean. He chuckles awkwardly, but doesn’t enlighten her. Technically they were engaged for six days so it’s not entirely deceitful. “Castiel. What a nice name. It is absolutely wonderful to meet you, young man. You two will have to stop by sometime and tell me all about how you met and fell in love, but not today. Henry is visiting. I was just taking out the trash before he got here.”

“We can take it down for you,” Dean offers.

“Oh no, it’s fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“We’re going back down to get more of my things,” Castiel interjects. “It really would be no hardship on our part.”

Mrs. Johnson lights up and turns to whisper exaggeratedly towards Dean.

“Oh my, you found yourself a real gentleman, lucky dog.”

Dean laughs again and juggles his box to one arm to take her trash bag.

“You bet your ass I did,” Dean says with a conspiratorial wink. Mrs. Johnson giggles and they bid their farewells as they enter their respective apartments, leaving the trash bag just outside the door to carry down when the leave again.

“She seems nice,” Castiel says distractedly as he looks around the smallish apartment for the first time. It’s very clean, he notices. Much cleaner than Bobby’s house. He’s not sure if that’s because they cleaned for him or because they are naturally tidy people. He’s seen the way Sam sprawls his things to cover an entire table at the library so somehow he doubts it.

“Who’s nice?” Sam calls from the kitchen.

“Cas met Mrs. Johnson,” Dean calls back, tossing his box onto the floor beside the couch and sighs as the weight frees his arms. Castiel stacks his box on top of Dean’s. “She said he’s a ‘real gentleman’.”

Sam laughs and enters the room, a bowl of cereal in hand. “Clearly she’s never seen him play Call of Duty. He’s ruthless.”

The night before Castiel had been invited over to play video games with Charlie, Jo, Sam, and Jess at Charlie’s house and apparently he is extremely good for someone who has never played before. Dean missed out because he had to work.

“She wants us to come over sometime and tell her the story of how we fell in love,” Castiel says in a serious monotone. Sam cracks up.

“That’ll be hilarious. You should record it.”

“Ha ha,” Dean deadpans.

“Who’s Henry?” Castiel asks, suddenly remembering her reason for not interrogating them immediately. He doesn’t expect for Sam and Dean to grow serious and trade weighted looks.

“What? Who is he?” Castiel demands, eyes narrow.

“Sam thinks he’s a ghost,” Dean quips. Sam rolls his eyes.

“You never know. He could be,” he says seriously.

“I don’t understand.”

“Alright, look,” Dean says, “She talks about Henry all the time, her grandson, but we’ve lived across the hall from her for years and we’ve never seen the kid. Not once. She says he visits all the time, but…” Dean shrugs.

“So Sam thinks he’s a ghost. What do you think?” Castiel asks.

“I think she’s a few marbles short of a set, you know?”

“Umm no?”

“Dean thinks she’s got dementia or something and her grandson doesn’t really exist,” Sam supplies and stuffs a spoonful of cereal into his mouth with gusto.

“Yeah well you think the poor kid’s dead and she’s being visited by his ghost,” Dean bites back, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. D’you want a tour? It’ll only take like 20 seconds. You can already see most of it from here.”

“I’d love one.”

Dean is correct in that it’s a very short tour, but Castiel appreciates it all the same. Afterward, they troop back down the three flights of stairs (Dean absolutely refuses to use the elevator or let Castiel use the elevator for some unexplained reason) with the bag of trash to collect the last of Castiel’s things.

They step out of the stairwell and Castiel nearly collides with a man coming around the corner.

“Oh, sorry,” Castiel says and side-steps around him, bumping into Dean in the process who is standing a little too close. The man ignores him and disappears into the stairwell without a word.

“That was strange,” Castiel murmurs. Dean turns away from glaring silently after the man and gives Castiel a significant look.

“He lives somewhere on our floor. Me and Sam have both run into him a few times and he’s never friendly. You should just try to stay out of his way if you can,” Dean advises in a hushed tone as though the man might hear him through the concrete walls.

“Alright,” Castiel agrees, if only to appease Dean. He casts one last glance after the dark-skinned man and then follows after Dean towards the dumpster around back.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

The first night, Dean sleeps on the couch and Castiel takes the bed and neither of them sleep a wink. Castiel can’t relax knowing that Dean, his _husband_ , is just on the other side of the wall sleeping on the couch because Castiel is too afraid to share a bed. He knows better than to think Dean would try anything, but otherwise he doesn’t know what to expect and it’s that fear of the unknown that keeps him from fetching Dean and allowing them both to get some rest.

They get up in the morning with dark circles under their eyes and surely dispositions. Sam gets fed up with them rather quickly and leaves to go hang out with Jess, leaving the two of them to take out their sleepless night on the other. They both have the day off so there is nothing else to do but bicker.

Their tempers reach their peak around noon and Dean breaks.

“That’s it!” Dean throws down the comic he’d been hiding behind while Castiel made snarky comments about the plausibility of the cartoon currently on the TV. “We’re going to bed.”

“No,” Castiel abjectly refuses without looking away from the TV. “Stupid bird,” he mutters. “Clearly that was a trap.”

“Dammit Cas!” Dean yells and punches the off button on the side of the TV with his thumb.

“That was rude,” Castiel growls.

“What are you so afraid of?” Dean demands, ignoring Castiel’s objection. “Do you think— D’you think I’m going to force myself on you or something?”

Dean tries to hold onto his anger, but his voice cracks and Castiel can see the vulnerability and the hurt peeking through to the surface.

“No!” he refutes. “I would never—,”

“Then what the hell is it?” Dean insists. “Do I _smell_? Is there something _wrong_ with me? _What is it?_ ”

“I don’t know!”

“How do you not know? What could you—,”

“I. Don’t. _Know_ ,” Castiel repeats. “I don’t know! _I don’t know!_ ”

He wants to put his hands over his ears and shut everything out. Instead he squeezes his eyes shut and presses the heels of his hands into them.

“Cas.” Dean’s hands brush Castiel’s knuckles and then ghost through his hair and settle on his cheeks. “Cas, I don’t understand what’s wrong.”

Castiel sniffs compulsively though his eyes stay dry.

“Neither do I,” he admits.

“Do you trust me?” Dean asks. Castiel sighs and drops his hands, but doesn’t lift his gaze from the floor.

“It has nothing to do with—,”

“I said, do you trust me?” Dean repeats incessantly.

“Of course.” Castiel frowns and lifts his head to meet Dean’s imploring stare.

“Then trust me on this, okay? If it doesn’t work then just say so and we’ll stop and I’ll never bug you about it again, okay?”

Castiel searches Dean’s eyes and finds nothing but pleading sincerity and exhaustion.

“Alright.”

They enter the bedroom and Castiel freezes just inside the doorway, his stomach a jumble of anxiety and terror.

“Cas, it’s okay. We’re just going to sleep,” Dean says, voice soft and soothing. Cas nods mutely, his heart in his throat beating double time. “Do you want to lay down first or should I?”

“You.”

“Okay.”

Dean squeezes his shoulder as he passes him and climbs into the bed without hesitation, burrowing under the covers.

“Your turn,” Dean says, patting the second pillow. “I won’t even touch you if you don’t want me to and if you’re still uncomfortable I’ll leave or you can leave or whatever.”

“Alright,” Castiel agrees, his voice unwilling to go above a whisper. He cautiously inches closer to the bed and then gingerly slips under the covers and lays very still as to not accidentally brush against Dean as he stares straight up at the ceiling his heart beating against the cage of his ribs.

“Good job babe,” Dean praises. Castiel huffs a fretful laugh and doesn’t comment on Dean encouraging him like he’s a toddler afraid of the dark. He appreciates it.

“Can I hold your hand?” Dean asks after a few seconds of quiet. Castiel doesn’t respond verbally, instead simply moves his hand to rest on top of the blankets. Hand holding is familiar territory. That, he feels he can do.

Dean slots their hands together and gives him a reassuring squeeze. Castiel clutches on tightly, willing the anxiety clouding his head and sparking under his skin to go away. They lay like that for a very long time. Long enough for Castiel to gradually relax under the soothing glide of Dean’s thumb along the back of Castiel’s hand. This isn’t much different from sitting together on the couch. They’re just reclined and under the same blanket and there’s no TV to distract them from the warmth of the body beside them or the sound of the other’s breathing... Right.

“How you doing over there?” Dean asks in a whisper.

“I’m okay,” Castiel says and swallows thickly. “Why are you whispering?”

Dean chuckles. “I dunno dude. It’s just something people do.”

Castiel’s mouth goes dry. “When they’re in bed together?”

“Hey don’t think of it like that. Don’t think about other people. It’s just you and me here. Cas and Dean, doing Cas and Dean things like whispering and holding hands.”

Castiel huffs. He’s sure Dean realizes those are very much not things that “Cas and Dean” typically do. Nonetheless Castiel finds himself loosening up. Muscles that were tense and on alert slowly sink into the mattress and his death grip on Dean’s hand relaxes ever so slightly.

“Hey that’s more like it,” Dean says and Castiel finally gathers the courage to turn his head and face Dean.

Castiel’s heart does something funny in his chest at the sight of Dean beside him, his hair dark against the white of the pillow case. His green eyes are brilliant and soft and concerned and his mouth is turned up into a small reassuring smile. It’s _his_ Dean.

“Hello Dean,” he whispers, his voice rough and deep from the long minutes of tense silence.

“Hey baby,” Dean replies. “You doing okay now?”

Castiel takes a deep breath and releases it. “I believe so.”

“You want a hug?” Dean’s smile is teasing, but Castiel considers the offer seriously.

“Yes please,” he answers.

Dean blinks in surprise, but releases Castiel’s hand to open his arms to him anyway. Castiel rolls over into the embrace and Dean folds his arms around him, cocooning him in his embrace. The blankets are bunched strangely between them, but Castiel rests his head where Dean’s arm meets his shoulder and decides he never wants to leave this spot.

They sleep the rest of the afternoon away, obliterating their sleep schedules in the process, but where they will sleep is never a problem again, only Dean’s habit of hogging the blankets and Castiel’s ‘octo-cuddling’ as Dean calls it.

Neither stir when Sam comes home and peeks in on them before ducking back out and putting his phone to his ear as he pulls his laptop out of his backpack and sets it on the coffee table.

“They’re asleep, thank God… Yeah, in the same bed… I know, right? … Ugh, gross Gabe!” Sam blurts, pulling a face. “I don’t need those thoughts about my brother thank you very _not_. Hey, listen, I’ll talk to you later. I’m going to take advantage of the peace while it lasts… Ha ha. See you.”

Sam hangs up and rolls his eyes at the collection of idiots he has somehow found himself surrounded by.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

The next month flies by and before Castiel knows it, Dean is a mess and they’re loading up the back of Bobby’s truck to drive them halfway across the country to get Sam and Jess to Stanford. Castiel tags along to make sure Dean doesn’t drive off a cliff on his way back. He and Bobby know that he’s only half joking. It’s a long drive in a cramped cab and they don’t stop as often as they’d like thanks to some bad weather they’re trying to race. They brought tarps just in case, but they’re such a pain that they’d rather only have to deal with them if they have to.

Dean’s mood swings alarmingly between morose and annoyingly chipper to the point where even Jess is concerned. She and Sam trade their concerned glances the whole was there, which Dean of course notices and makes the mood swings more frequent because he knows he’s not being subtle.

Otherwise, they all pretend nothing is wrong and that Sam and Jess are going off on some grand adventure. Castiel takes pictures of them at every gas station they stop at and snaps random candids of them in the truck throughout the drive. He gets one that he likes very much of Dean, Jess, and Sam all belting out Bon Jovi during one of Dean’s upswings. Jess’s blonde hair glows orange in the setting sun.

Castiel has a harder time pretending, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows it will only make things worse if Dean is no longer allowed to pretend.

They make it to Palo Alto and unpack the back of the truck in the rain they were trying to race. They at least managed to get Jess’s things off to her apartment before it started and Sam has so few things anyway that they’re not out in it long.

Castiel and Dean stay a night in a motel to make sure they both settle in okay and didn’t forget anything major. Dean hands Sam a wad of twenties and tells him to hide it and only use it for emergencies and then makes a tasteless joke about throwing a kegger not counting as an emergency. Sam huffs and carries on like he normally would without mentioning the stilted delivery and the way Dean’s voice cracks.

They hug goodbye fiercely and Sam assures Dean that he’ll be home for Thanksgiving. Castiel and Dean climb back into the truck and the cab seems so much bigger now with only the two of them. As soon as they pull out of sight of the dorms, Dean’s facade falls away and he draws in on himself, shutting Castiel out completely. He lets him deal in his own way and doesn’t try to force him to talk to him, instead he watches out the window and doesn’t say anything as Dean turns the radio on and off intermittently, seemingly unable to decide if he wants it on or not. He’s much too quiet.

They finally stop at a diner after Dean’s stomach has growled three times and Castiel’s once. Dean just sits there on the opposite side of the booth and stares out the window at the vacant gravel lot. Castiel orders for both of them when Dean doesn’t appear to notice the waitress asking for his order; two burgers and three slices of different kinds of pie in a fit of desperation.

Dean picks at his food listlessly, taking a few bites of his burger and only managing to finish a single slice of pie. He does drink his entire Coke though and Castiel calls over the waitress for a refill when she isn’t immediately there to refill it. Dean gives him a weird look then and Castiel wonders if maybe he didn’t get as shut out as he’d thought.

“Why are you acting all weird?” Dean asks shortly. Castiel twists his hands in his lap.

“I just want you to be… happy.” He winces at his word choice. Of course Dean’s not going to be happy right now.

“Dude,” Dean says with the ghost of a half-smile. “Not that I’m complaining, but you don’t have to load me up with pie and terrorize the waitress. It’s not like I’m gonna off myself or anything.”

Castiel flinches and drops his gaze to his lap.

“Woah, hold on.” Dean’s eyes sharpen and he’s suddenly 100% invested in the conversation. “You didn’t really think I’d— Cas.”

Castiel shrugs and looks anywhere but in his eyes.

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I’ve been concerned.” He looks up at Dean through his eyelashes, taking in Dean’s shock and confusion. “Sam’s your whole world.”

“Well, maybe, but he said he’d be back and I—,” Dean cuts off, shaking his head. “Why would you even go there?”

Castiel doesn’t say anything. How can he? What would he say? How do you tell someone something like that? That you’ve been there before. That the idea that someone might think that way isn’t too much of an impossibility when you’ve walked that road and came out the other end scratched and bruised, but somehow still breathing.

“Cas… Did you…?” Dean doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to. He looks nauseated.

“Homelessness is… difficult,” Castiel begins in a hushed tone directed at his coffee mug. “Especially for someone like me who was so woefully unprepared. It’s… There’s no feasible way to get up by yourself when you’re that far down. I was so naive. I—,” Castiel shakes his head, blinking away the wetness that fills his eyes as he thinks back on those days.

“All I’ve ever wanted my entire life is freedom. The freedom to think what I think and be who I am and follow my own path with no guilt and no repercussions. When my father ordered me to leave I thought—,” Castiel laughs hollowly. “I thought it was my chance. I thought if only I was determined enough and tenacious enough, that I could do it. I could start at nothing and work my way to something that means something and make a _life_ for myself.” Castiel chuckles humorlessly.

“After that first year, I decided that freedom is a length of rope. And God wanted me to hang myself with it.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes.

Castiel shakes his head. He can’t look at him. He squeezes his hands together harder in his lap.

“I didn’t obviously, but it… somedays, it was really hard not to. I could have given what little I had to the others, no one would miss me. Somedays I convinced myself that there wasn’t a downside and it would actually be _beneficial_ to the world if I did.”

“I would miss you,” Dean says with conviction. Castiel scoffs and glances up at Dean through his lashes, breath catching in his throat at the fire in Dean’s gaze.

“You didn’t even know me.”

“Doesn’t matter. I would, Cas. Trust me. There’d be something missing without you and I’d feel it and I’d feel it for the rest of my life. Count on it.”

Castiel can’t hold up under the intensity of Dean’s stare any longer and drops his eyes to his lap.

“I’m glad I didn’t,” he admits. “It’s taken a long time, but I’m really glad I never did.”

“How long were you homeless, Cas?” Dean asks.

“Five years,” Castiel tells him with a rueful grin. Dean’s eyes go round and Castiel watches his lips soundlessly form the words again.

“Why didn’t you?” Dean asks. “Don’t get me wrong I’m fucking ecstatic that you didn’t, but hell Cas. Five years of not knowing if today was the day? How?”

Castiel frowns and goes back to the days that he’s long since buried.

“I didn’t feel that way all five years,” he explains thoughtfully. “The first two definitely. It was sometime after that though… It’s hard to remember. I almost died.”

Dean sucks in a sharp breath across from him and Castiel smiles.

“It was hardly the first time I’d almost died, Dean.”

“Not exactly reassuring Cas,” Dean grumbles. “What happened?”

“I got sick,” Castiel answers plainly. “I don’t get sick very often and it was the first time I’d been well and truly sick on the streets. I overestimated how far I could walk and I was nowhere near close enough to a shelter to get help. I was sure I was going to die, but I—,” Castiel frowns, staring at his plate without seeing it. “I didn’t feel relief like I thought I would. I panicked and I thought about Anna. I thought about her never knowing what happened to me. I didn’t have any kind of identification on me, no one knew who I was, I would be one more John Doe in the morgue.”

“How did you… What happened?” Dean’s voice sounds strange and Castiel looks up and gives him an inquisitive look. He seems a bit pale and shaken, leaning forward with intent, his eyes wide.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” Dean dismisses, shaking his head. “What happened next? You got picked up didn’t you. By a man in a black car.”

Castiel’s eyes go wide. “How did you…”

“No fucking way,” Dean says and falls back against the bench. “No _fucking_ way. You’re _my_ John Doe. I picked up a guy and dropped him off at Memorial Hospital. He was burning up like crazy and kept talking about how his sister… his sister would miss him.”

Shock slams into Castiel like a sledgehammer. Without warning, Castiel’s eyes well up and he shakes his head mutely. He can’t believe it. It was Dean all this time. What are the chances? But at the same time, of course it was. Who else could it ever have been.

“You gave me my fight back,” Castiel laughs wetly as the tears spill over down his cheeks. “All this time...”

“Hey, hey,” Dean soothes, trying to reach him across the table. He huffs in frustration and slides out to move around to Castiel’s bench instead. He plants a rough kiss to the side of Castiel’s forehead and pulls him into an embrace so tight it almost hurts. Castiel clutches him back, fisting his hands into his shirt and burying his face into his chest.

“I guess we’re really gonna have a good ole cry fest in a diner in the middle of freaking Nevada,” Dean grumbles good naturedly, his voice strained. Castiel laughs and it’s enough to be able to pull himself together. He wipes at his face and sniffs several times before Dean just hands him his unused napkin and Castiel blows his nose.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Hey man, no worries,” Dean replies easily, but can’t hide the couple tears he wipes away himself. Castiel glances around the diner and notices how the few occupants there are all deeply engrossed in finishing their meals. He chuckles at the discomfort they’ve clearly caused.

“Perhaps we should have had this conversation elsewhere.”

“How the hell were we supposed to know it’d go all Lakehouse?” Dean complains, indignant. Castiel doesn’t understand the reference, but he laughs anyway.

They linger a little longer in the diner. Dean is less withdrawn and forces Castiel to try his remaining pie. The lemon meringue is enjoyable, but Castiel finds he is not a big fan of the apple, much to Dean’s bereavement. Too much crust. When they go to leave the waitress waives their bill, saying it’s on the house. When they get back to the truck Dean comments that there’s something to be said for having a cry fest in a diner in Nevada after all.

They’re getting settled into their motel that night when Castiel asks the question that’s been on his mind since the diner.

“Dean?”

“Hmm,” Dean hums from his side of the bed, his eyes already closed.

“Do you believe in fate?” Castiel asks the ceiling, twirling his wedding band around his ring finger where his hands rest over his stomach. Dean cracks his eyes open at the question.

“You’re thinking about that night aren’t you?”

Castiel hums the affirmative.

“I believe in what I can see and touch,” Dean says. “Maybe there’s some big unknown out there guiding events, but I like to think that we make our own fate.”

Castiel says nothing, thinking.

“What do you think?” Dean asks, propping himself up on an elbow to see him better.

“I’m not sure,” Castiel says. “I think about what I grew up with and it’s not unbelievable that someone or something out there is guiding us along our predestined paths.”

“But?” Dean prompts when Castiel peters off.

“But, when I think back to that night, I think, of course it was you.” Castiel turns his head to look Dean in the eye. “Who else would do such a thing for someone like me?”

Dean frowns. “You’re not—,”

“I know, Dean. But it has a sense of poetry to it, don’t you think? It’s you. It has always been you. It will always be you.”

Castiel watches Dean process the words and the emotions that they elicit to play over his features. Then Dean shakes his head and leans over him.

“ _God_ , you’re a sap.”

And then he kisses him.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**.**

**— Dean —**

**.**

Everything is fuzzy and kind of topsy-turvy and _whoa_ , is that a barstool or a—

With a shout Dean trips and topples to the floor and lands with a bang. Yep. It was a barstool.

“Hey buddy, you got someone I can call? You need to get the hell out.”

It takes a few tries, but Dean finally manages to pull his phone out of his front pocket and hand it off to whoever was just yelling at him.

“Who am I callin’, jackass?”

“Cas,” Dean slurs.

“What kinda name is that?”

Dean glares blearily in the direction of the voice, but isn’t trusting enough of his legs to try and get back up just yet. It feels like only seconds later, it must have been much longer than that unless Cas suddenly learned how to teleport, but there’s a pair of bright blue eyes peering down at him, narrowed in irritation and Dean would recognize that constipated look anywhere.

“Hey baby,” Dean chirps from the floor. “Come here often?”

“Much more often than I would prefer, thanks to you.”

“Ouch,” Dean slurs. “‘M hurt.”

Above him, Cas sighs. “Dean please. I want to go home.”

“Legs dn’t work,” Dean pouts.

The next thing Dean knows he’s being hauled up to his feet and draped around Cas’s shoulders and dragged towards the front door of the bar. He somehow always manages to forget that Cas is a lot stronger than he looks.

“Hey! He broke my stool!” The voice is the same one from before.

“How tragic for you,” Cas retorts bitingly and then slams through the front door and into a downpour. Dean barks out a loud laugh, mindless of the rain.

“You’re so badass.”

“Be quiet, Dean. I’m angry with you,” Cas responds shortly. Dean’s stomach drops.

“What? No baby, please don’t be mad.”

“Then stop doing this to yourself,” Cas says.

“Anything,” Dean promises. He hates it when Cas is mad at him. _Hates it._

“You say that every time,” Cas sighs.

“’M sorry.”

“You say _that_ every times too.”

“Cas. Cas, I dunno what to do. What do I do?”

“You could try _not_ getting blackout drunk at the bar,” he snaps.

Dean thinks he might be being sarcastic, but it’s hard to tell because the world tilts again and he suddenly finds himself sopping wet in the passenger seat of the Impala. His other Baby. Suddenly, Cas is beside him in the driver seat, cranking the ignition and dripping all over the upholstery. Maybe he _can_ teleport.

“I didn’t blackout.”

“Not yet,” Cas mutters, barely audible over the squeak of the wipers and the pounding of the rain, but Dean hears.

“Wow. That’s mean,” he complains. “When did you get mean? You used to be so nice. When Sam was here you were nice.”

Dean’s mood turns black again. He misses Sam. He wishes Sam had never left him.

“I miss Sam too, Dean,” Cas says out of nowhere. “I’m sorry he’s not here for you, but he didn’t leave you and you need to stop taking it out on yourself.”

“‘S fine Cas. I always sorta knew Sam wouldn’t stick around here. He’s so much bigger than this town. I guess that’s why I hung on so tight.”

Cas sighs and doesn’t say anything else. Dean tries to slouch down so he can see Cas and be comfortable at the same time, but there’s something squeezing his chest. It’s around his neck! It on his neck!

“Dean stop! Stop! It’s your seatbelt! Dean stop!”

Dean stops flailing and drops the thing, his seatbelt, and it slides back into place across his chest. Cas sighs again, but his breath is shaky when it comes out and his knuckles are white around the steering wheel. Dean thinks he’s really mad for a minute, but then he sees how shiny those gorgeous blue eyes are and he realizes he’s trying not to cry.

“You know I won’t judge you for crying Cas. Just let it all out, baby,” Dean coos.

Cas sniffs and glares over at Dean before looking back out the windshield. What could possibly be so interesting out there when Dean is in here?

“I’m driving, Dean,” Cas says dryly. “And it’s storming.”

Oh right. Dean wonders why Cas bothers with driving when he could just teleport. It’d be a hell of a lot easier than lugging Dean’s useless ass all over the place. And in the rain, too. Cas _hates_ driving in the rain. Dean wonders if he would like teleporting. Probably not. Maybe Cas can’t even take other people with him when he teleports. That would be a bummer.

“I’m tired of crying over this,” Cas whispers and it damn breaks Dean’s heart to hear it. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s good at fixing cars and stuff, but he’s never been good at fixing people. He’s only good at breaking them.

“That’s not true,” Cas murmurs and Dean wonders if he can read minds too.

_TACOS_. Dean makes sure he thinks it extra loud, just in case. Cas turns a sad look upon him before facing front again. Must be a no then. Tacos wouldn’t make Cas sad. Cas loves tacos.

They’re silent the rest of the drive home. Dean just watches Cas as the street lights flash by and it feels like an old film and he decides then and there that Cas would look damn great on the silver screen. Dean’s lulled into something of a stupor by the time they finally pull into the apartment complex’s parking lot, but he’s pulled out of it when the rumble of the Impala suddenly vanishes from underneath him.

He blinks his eyes open and sees Cas give the dash a fond pat and whisper, “Good girl”. Dean’s heart swells with so much emotion he doesn’t know what to do with it all. It’s overwhelming and all-encompassing and… and… and then he passes out.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Dean wakes up alone in his own bed wishing for death to take him. He reaches blindly for the nightstand where he knows he’ll find a glass of water and exactly two Aspirin. Instead his fingers collide with the frayed edge of a torn piece of notebook paper.

Dean rockets up into a sitting position and immediately regrets it as his stomach lurches and he’s forced to stumble to the bathroom. Once his stomach is emptied he staggers right back to that piece of paper and smooths it flat with shaking hands. _Please no_.

_‘At the library. Picked up a double. See you tonight.’_

Dean’s breath rushes out of him with an audible whoosh and his hands continue to shake as he drops the note and picks up the water glass. It would have served him damn right if that letter was what he thought it was. He’s treated Cas like absolute shit for the past month. Hell if Dean can figure out why he hasn’t left his sorry ass yet. It’d serve him right.

He downs his Aspirin and the rest of his water and lays down. He’s miserable and he’s making Cas miserable and knowing that is just making him even more miserable. It’s this horrible self-perpetuating cycle and he just can’t seem to snap himself out of it. He doesn’t know what to do. If Sam were here, what would he tell him? Dean scoffs. He doesn’t have to wonder at that. Sam already told him over the phone when they talked last week. He told Dean to get the hell over himself and stop being an ass to Cas. You can see how far _that_ bit of advice got him.

Dean’s bed reeks like alcohol. Yet another thing to hate about himself. Cas probably slept in Sam’s old room again last night. He does that when he can’t be bothered with Dean’s bullshit anymore. Dean can’t blame him.

Dean staggers down the hall to Sam’s room and collapses face first onto the bed, nose in the pillow, and breathes in deep. It smells like Cas and it soothes him into a light sleep.

Later when he wakes up he doesn’t move, he simply breathes and hopes that if he lays here long enough and still enough, everything will stop hurting; his head, his stomach, and his heart. His memories from last night filter back in slowly. He remembers the rain and feels terrible all over again for making Cas go out in it. He doesn’t have a whole lot of driving experience yet and absolutely loathes driving in the rain.

He remembers something about tacos. Did he eat tacos? No. Cas ate tacos. Hell, he doesn’t remember. He remembers the lights on Cas’s face though and the sound of the rain hitting the roof and “Good girl”.

Dean jerks into a sitting position for the second time that day, only this time he doesn’t have to go vomit afterward. Holy shit. _Holy shit!_

Dean remembers clear as day, the swoop of emotions through his gut and filling up his chest until he couldn’t breathe. He remembers looking up at Cas and thinking he was the luckiest mother fucker on the planet and that he wouldn’t give that sentimental bastard up for anything in the damn universe. And in that moment, Dean realizes he is hopelessly, irrevocably, in love with his husband.

And hell, he’s got a lot to fix before he can tell him that without being some kind of manipulative asshole. Where does he even start? Dean puts his head in his hands and glares down at the floor. He frowns. There’s a corner of a yellow notebook sticking out that Sam must have forgotten. It’s probably not important, definitely not if Sam didn’t notice it was missing anytime in the past month, but Dean picks it up anyway and flips it open to the first page.

There’s two different sets of handwriting filling the page. One is clearly Sam’s messy scrawl and the other Dean doesn’t recognize. He thinks he probably shouldn’t snoop, but if Sam was passing notes in class Dean is curious to know what the little rebel was writing about and who he was writing to. No way would Kevin be up for something that would take away from his note taking.

Dean starts to read and is immediately confused. They’re talking about Stanford, but not in a way Dean would expect. They’re not talking about what an amazing opportunity going to Stanford would be and how Sam would ace everything, but how Sam is reluctant to go because he would worry about Dean and not do well in class because of it. Dean frowns as the other person assures Sam that they’ll look out for Dean and to not base his decision on Dean’s happiness but his own.

“ _Dean will always be there for you to come home to. You know that. This is your future._”

They’re talking like they know Dean, but the only ones that Sam would be writing with that know Dean beyond just in passing would be Bobby, Jo, Charlie, or—

Dean nearly throws the notebook across the floor when he realizes that he’s ready what’s now _clearly_ a private conversation between his husband and little brother. It’s one thing to snoop through a chat between two kids just passing time during class, but he knows Sam and Cas are pretty close and that kind of closeness comes with some in depth, _private_ , discussions. He remembers now Sam always complaining about how strict the Head Librarian was back when she was, you know, alive to be strict. He said she’d get on him and Cas for even the quietest discussion and they’d have to resort to passing a notebook just to communicate. It’d be wrong of Dean to read that notebook.

But _damn_ , he’s got a taste and now he’s curious, so he opens the notebook again and skims through the parts he already read, reading them again knowing it’s Cas speaking and his heart aches in his chest when he sees how hard Cas has been looking out for Sammy while Dean’s just been doing everything he can to fuck it all up. Even now, they got their way and Dean is making them miserable for it.

He can’t do this anymore, he realizes as he reads with a churning stomach. Sam lists off all the warning signs that mean Dean’s not coping. Item number one, underlined five times and in all capitals is “DRINKING”. The rest of the list is about just as flattering and just as accurate.

“What are you doing?”

Dean does throw the notebook on the floor this time and it flops to a crumpled heap at his feet. Dean stares at Cas, framed in the doorway with a frown etched into his skin, eyes wary. Dean did that.

“I’m sorry,” Dean breathes.  
“Enough,” Cas snaps, eyes flashing. “I’m done with the ‘I’m sorry’s, Dean.”

“No, I know. I know,” Dean says quickly, picking up the notebook in one hand and holding out the other to… To what? To calm Cas? To make him stay? He doesn’t know. “I just…” Dean takes a deep breath. “I read his list and he got it right. Every single thing. All of my bullshit and,” Dean’s throat closes around the words, cutting them short. He clears it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cas says, face stony.

“The list,” Dean insists, waving the notebook. “Sam’s list he wrote you after you promised you’d make sure I didn’t self-destruct if he went off to Stanford like he wanted. The list of every bad choice I could possibly make while he was gone and I’ve done every single one and it’s only been a month.”

There are tears in Dean’s eyes, but he doesn’t care. Let them fall. He deserves it.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do about that,” Cas says, face and body language giving away nothing, not stepping into the room towards Dean’s, but not stepping away either.

“I don’t know,” Dean sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Tell me I suck? Dump all of my alcohol down the sink?”  
“No.”

“What? No, what?”

“No, I won’t tell you you suck and no, I won’t throw away your alcohol,” Cas replies staunchly. “I don’t think you suck and I refuse to fix you.”

“What?” Dean’s starting to feel like a broken record.

“If you want to change then change yourself. If you want your alcohol dumped down the sink, then _you_ dump it. I won’t do it for you. I can’t make you change and I’d be foolish to try. Only you can do that. But if you choose to accept it, I can offer my assistance.”

“Err okay. Will you _assist me_ in dumping my alcohol down the drain then?” Dean asks.

“Of course,” Castiel responds, but his face is still impassive and it’s hurting Dean more with every passing second to see him hiding from him. Dean gets to his feet and Cas turns on his heel and marches to the kitchen without a backwards glance.

The dumping of the alcohol is more of a production that Dean had anticipated. Cas refuses to be the one to physically dump it, so he twists off the cap and hands the bottle to Dean and they both watch it slowly swirl down the drain Just the smell of it is enough to make Dean’s stomach rebel, but he holds his ground until there are nine empty bottles lining the counter.

They leave them there and Cas returns to work for his second shift (“I only came to make sure you hadn’t choked to death on your own vomit.” “Thanks Cas. I appreciate that.”) and Dean takes a shower.

Two weeks later the empty bottles are still there and Dean hasn’t had a drink since. He also quit his job at McDonald’s. With Cas working fulltime, him having three jobs seemed a little excessive and, as Cas pointed out, was only wearing him out. So goodbye McHellhole. See you never.

Bobby finds out about it when Dean is suddenly available for more hours and promptly convinces him to quit at the CoffeeHouse too so he can work full time for him. He even promises to set Dean up with a benefit package as soon as he can afford to and hell, who is Dean to say no? He also knows that Bobby taking him on full-time means that he can finally fire one of his other employees who keeps breaking shit and is chronically late for everything so all in all, it works out well for everyone; although it takes a long time for Dean to get used to only working a single nine to five, Monday through Friday job. In the end, he decides he rather likes always being home by six and not having to work weekends.

With Cas’s permission, Dean reads through the rest of the notebook to get inside Sam’s head a little before he left (“Dean I wouldn’t have left that there for you to read if I didn’t want you to read it.” “You left—? Oh.”). It’s an enlightening experience to say the least. Turns out Dean’s baby brother knows him better than Dean even knows himself. Cas tells him he should call Sam and have a heart to heart over it and, okay, so maybe he’s got a point, but Dean ain’t any good at that crap so when he calls it’s more to tell him that he was right about everything and Dean’s a self-centered ass and he’s going to stop being a self-centered ass. It helps.

His and Cas’s relationship gets better too (it’s still fucking weird to call it their ‘marriage’). They eventually fall back into how things were before Dean turned into a colossal douche. They go on ‘burger dates’ as Jo calls them, but they just say they’re going out for burgers. They try a fancy date exactly once. They go to some high end steakhouse place and they sit in near silence for almost thirty minutes.

Dean’s trying to remember all the do’s and don’ts of fine dining; _don’t_ put your elbows on the table, _do_ put your napkin over your lap, _do_ sip, _don’t_ slurp, _don’t_ make a crude joke about the guy at the next table over’s mustache and make Cas snort into his wine. It’s hell. They end up requesting their food to go before it ever arrives at the table and then they get the hell out of dodge.

It’s whatever. They have a way better time eating with their fingers on a bench at the park and laughing with food in their mouths anyway.

It takes a while, but Dean realizes he’s happy. He never would have thought it would be possible with Sam half a country away, but here he is. You’d think he’d get used to being wrong by now.

Then things change; a good change for fucking once.

It starts, surprisingly, with a make out session on the couch. A simple kiss evolves into a series of kisses and from there escalates to Dean pinned into the couch, Cas’s weight pressing against him, and—

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Dean gasps. His hands are clenched around Cas’s shoulders, unsure if he should push him back or pull him closer. “Cas, what are you doing?”

“Kissing you,” Cas murmurs and resumes pressing open-mouthed kisses along Dean’s collarbone.

“Cas, Cas,” Dean pants. “I don’t know— You gotta stop.”

“Why?” Cas growls and sucks a spot over Dean’s clavicle.

“ _God_ , Cas. Stop.”

Cas sits back with a deep frown, his lips pink and swollen and his hair a fucking mess.

“Why are we stopping?” he all but growls.

“Because I don’t know what the hell is going on!”

“We’re kissing.”

Dean laughs breathlessly. “We’re doing a hell of a lot more than kissing, Cas. I thought you weren’t into this kind of thing.”

“Well I certainly appear to be,” Cas responds dryly, glancing down at his lap and then looking back up at Dean. Dean’s mouth goes dry and his face turns hot.

“Jesus, Cas. You’re killing me. How do I know when to stop? How far are we going?”

“I don’t know,” Cas says and leans down to start trailing kisses all over again.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathes. “I need a little more to go off of than ‘I don’t know’.”

“We’ll make it up as we go along,” Cas purrs. Dean groans and tips his head back, giving himself over for Cas to have his way with.

Twenty minutes later they’re sticky and sweaty and spread eagle on the couch with Cas’s head resting on Dean’s chest and Dean can’t think of a single better way to spend a Wednesday afternoon.

“You liked that?” he asks, just to make sure him and Cas are on the same page. Cas hums in response.

“Very much.”

“Good.” Dean relaxes into the couch. “Good.”

Cas nuzzles his cheek against Dean’s t-shirt and he swears his heart grows two sizes. He doesn’t want to ever move, but his lower half will not be pleased with him if he lays around much longer.

“We should go change,” Dean says, nudging at Cas’s thigh with his knee.

“Why?” Cas rumbles, not moving an inch. Dean huffs and watches his breath fan through Cas’s hair.

“Haven’t you ever jizzed in your shorts before dude?”

“No.”

“What? No?” Dean parrots stupidly. “You never, you know, gave it a good ole—,”

“I have never masturbated before, Dean,” Cas explains with a tired sigh.

“Huh,” Dean says after several seconds. “Never?”

Cas sighs again and pushes himself up on his hands to glower down at Dean.

“Never. For one thing, it was forbidden and for another I never wanted to.”

“Huh,” Dean says again. It’s hard for him to imagine never jacking himself off. It’s _impossible_ to imagine never _wanting_ to. Cas rolls off the side of the couch and climbs to his feet and waits for Dean to do the same.

“Why is it important to change clothing after ejaculating?” Cas asks in his typical blunt fashion. Dean can’t stop the fond smile that curls his lips as he pries himself out of the couch and starts his waddle to the bedroom.

“Well see, cum dries so unless you want to find out how it feels to glue your ball sack to your thigh you wipe that shit off,” he says as Cas follows after him.

“Ah. That does sound rather unpleasant.”

They experiment around a little after they know that Cas isn’t completely averse to all things sexual and Dean learns a lot about what Cas likes and doesn’t like. He’s leery when they start actually removing clothes, but he doesn’t lock down near as bad as he did over the whole bed sharing thing. Which, weird, but whatever. He doesn’t like his nipples being touched and he _hit_ _Dean_ , when they tried oral. Turns out the guy doesn’t like his cock sucked, who’da thunk? And he informed Dean in no uncertain terms that he has no interest in giving head either.

“You urinate from there, Dean. I’m not putting it in my _mouth_.”

Dean silently crosses rimming off his mental list as well.

But other than those things, there is so much that Cas _does_ enjoy that Dean doesn’t even consider complaining, regardless of the fact that this is already so much more than he’d expected anyway. There’s a lot of teaching involved, a lot more than Dean anticipated. Cas only understands sex as a means to reproduction. So something as simple (to Dean) as sex for pleasure is completely alien to him and he as nothing more than the most basic understanding of the mechanics of how male-on-male sex even works. So they take things slow. Very slow. And they have a hell of a good time along with way.

The weeks fly and the next thing Dean knows it’s mid-October and he’s fucking happy. No holds barred, honest to God, _happy_. And sickeningly in love.

Sure, he misses Sam like he’d miss his left arm if it suddenly up and ran away to go to college, but it’s not debilitating like it was at first. He can tuck the longing away and focus on the good things he does have and hell, Sam’s going to be back for Thanksgiving in just over a month anyway. Dean can wait.

It’s almost winter and the nights are cold and seem to drag on later into the morning now. It gets harder and harder to leave bed in the morning and Cas doesn’t help things by turning into a freaking octopus and refusing to let Dean get up. He claims that Dean is like a portable furnace.

“Lemme up, Cas. You’re gonna make me late,” Dean complains, trying to wriggle his torso out of the snare Cas’s arms have created. Cas only clings tighter.

“Mmmffffguh.”

Dean snorts and rolls closer to Cas to murmur sweetly in his ear.

“You know I don’t wanna, but I have to.” Dean presses a few kisses along Cas’s forehead down to his cheek, but Cas’s eyes remain stubbornly screwed shut. “Let go.”

“Yoonveranningywanna,” Cas whines and nuzzles his face into the warm skin connecting Dean’s shoulder and neck.

“Dude, I didn’t get any of that,” Dean says with a smile, his hand comes up to caress the back of Cas’s head of its own violation, threading hair through fingers again and again. Dean may complain about how clingy Cas is in the morning, but he’ll never admit how he secretly loves it, how it makes him feel too warm and loved and wanted and he never wants to go without feeling like this ever again.

Cas sighs heavily, like Dean asking him to speak clearly is too large of a burden to place on someone at this time of day. Cas leans back and cracks open one eye blearily.

“You never do anything you don’t want to do,” he says slowly and with carefully enunciated words, despite the rough quality of his voice, his sleep-crusted eyes, and wild bed head.

Dean rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother to smother his fond grin. He noses Cas’s ear and coos softly, “Well right now I want to make sure we can keep a roof over our heads and the heat running and that means getting up and fixing cars.”

“Bobby would take us in,” Cas grumbles. “Aren’t I more important than grumpy people demanding oil changes?”

“You are a grumpy person,” Dean says, but he’s miles away in his head. Should this be the moment? Is the timing right? Should he tell Cas exactly how important he thinks he is? He’s been sitting on his newfound feelings for weeks and hasn’t had the balls to let Cas in on them. Maybe now is his chance. Dean takes a deep breath.

“Alright listen up. This is the only time I’m doing this alright?” Dean says, his voice taking on an authoritative tone as he rolls over to brace his hands on the bed on either side of Cas’s shoulders, boxing him in. As long as he’s firm and treats it like any other talk they’ve had he can probably get through this.

In this position Cas’s lips are only inches away from his so Dean can’t help but to lean in once to capture Cas’s lips in a chaste, but lingering kiss.

Okay, twice.

Fine, one more time, but that’s it.

“That was three times, Dean,” Cas whispers, looking much more awake than a moment ago.

“Shut up, I’m talking.”

“Actually, I believe you were kissing.”

Dean drops his head just to the left of Cas’s on the pillow and groans. He picks his head back up and fixes Cas with a stern stare that probably comes across as slightly pleading.

“You know I’m no good at this man, so just stop being a little shit for once and let me do this, alright?”

Dean takes Cas’s wide-eyed stare as permission to continue, but he can’t help but get a little distracted once more as he takes in just how beautiful Cas is in Dean’s bed like this. _Their_ bed. His dark shock of hair against the white pillowcase sets off the blue of his eyes and the perpetual stubble pebbling Cas’s jaw just makes Dean want to touch him. He gives in to the impulse and lightly traces the back of his finger down Cas’s prickly cheek and watches as Cas closes his eyes under his ministrations.

Dean’s eyes and fingers follow along the curve of Cas’s jaw, the angle of his cheek, the slight wrinkles framing his eyes. Dean loves all of it. He loves everything that makes up Cas.

“When I look at you Cas, I can see it,” Dean says, his voice impossibly rough and gentle in equal measure. He avoids Cas’s soul searching gaze by allowing his fingertips to ghost along the other cheek and then over Cas’s chin and back up the other side.

“I can see the picket fence and the little house in the suburb, the two point five kids playing with the dog in the backyard and you sitting in some ugly ass chair that you picked up from a garage sale with like three cats and the whole family coming over for barbecues and Christmas dinner. I see it, Cas. I’ve never… and you… You’re it man. For me. So don’t you ever think you’re not, okay?”

Dean finally drags his wandering gaze up to connect with Cas’s and finds that his eyes are fully open now, wide and impossibly blue in the dim morning light, dark lashes framing them to make them even more wondering and vibrant. Dean dips his head down and presses a quick kiss to unresponsive lips and then bolts for the bathroom, nearly falling when his legs tangle in the blanket.

He makes it down the short hall and into the shower unscathed and just stands there under the hot spray for several long minutes repressing any and all thoughts over what he just did. He couldn’t even say it. He laid his soul out there and still, he couldn’t say three stupid little words. He feels exposed, laid bare in a way that he has never been before, even when he’s been ass naked. Even more so than when he proposed to Cas in the first place or when they signed the marriage certificate at the courthouse.

He’s dragged from his non-thoughts when the door to the bathroom is ripped open, closely followed by the shower curtain. There stands Cas, sleep rumpled and sporting cum stained boxers, but his eyes are alive with some kind of weird light.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice comes out odd and choked, but before he can clear his throat and try again Cas is in the shower and slamming him into the wall so hard their multitude of half empty shampoo bottles clatter to the floor and collect at the end by the drain. The shower curtain stands open and water is getting all over the floor, but Cas’s fingers are bruising their prints into Dean’s hips and Cas’s lips are warm and soft and demanding as hell and there are only so many things Dean can focus on all at once.

Dean gasps at the onslaught and Cas takes the opportunity to thrust his tongue into Dean’s mouth and kiss the bejesus out of him while grinding his hips against Dean’s. Despite the soggy boxers dragging against Dean’s bare skin, he gets hard faster than he ever has before in his life.

Cas tears his mouth away from Dean’s, leaving him feeling raw and slack jawed.

“I love you too, Dean,” Cas gasps out, but then he’s pressing warm open-mouthed kisses and sucking marks down the side of Dean’s neck and along his collarbone and Dean feels so warm and high he doesn’t even know what to do so he just holds onto Cas’s hips and lets him have his way. For once Dean isn’t thinking about what people will say about the marks or what the end game is, he just tips his head farther to the side and lets his eyes fall shut against the spray of water and loses himself in it.

“I should… say that stuff more often if…” Dean sucks in a sharp breath as Cas nips his trap muscle roughly. “If this is… what happens after,” Dean says, sounding much less coherent than he’d like. Cas licks the flat of his tongue up the side of Dean’s throat, lapping up water droplets and then scrapes his teeth against the soft flesh behind Dean’s ear. Dean sucks in a ragged breath and fists a hand in Cas’s wet hair to hold him there and hopes that his shaking legs continue to hold him up.

“Yes,” Cas agrees simply, his voice rough with sleep, or maybe arousal. Both? Both. Then the next thing Dean knows, Cas is on his knees in the middle of the shower while Dean is pinned against the wall getting the most intense blow job of his life.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**_._ **

**_— Castiel —_ **

**_._ **

Castiel feels dirty. He brushes his teeth for thirty minutes after Dean leaves and tries not to gag on the toothbrush. That was horrible.            His skin itches, he wants to crawl out of it and never touch anything again. When he kissed Dean goodbye, Dean looked so happy and Castiel just wanted to tear his own lips off. How do other people handle feeling like this? He’d expected the act itself to be unpleasant and was prepared for it, but he hadn’t anticipated the aftereffects.

He goes to work and isn’t really present all day. His co-workers notice so he lies and says he didn’t sleep well. He’s sure they see through it, but they leave him alone and for that, he is grateful. When he gets home that night, Dean is already there at the stove making dinner and when Castiel walks through the door he turns around and beams at him.

It just makes Castiel feel worse; alienated, alone.

He smiles back, but it must fall flat because Dean is there in an instant.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asks, reaching to cradle Castiel’s face. Castiel flinches away so sharply that he cracks his head against the door. Dean freezes, expression stuck in stunned confusion. “Cas?”

Castiel wants to lie. He wants to say he’s fine, it’s just a long day. Nothing he can’t handle. He wants to tell Dean that he’s not hungry and he’s going to bed early and promise him that he’ll feel better in the morning. The lies clot in his throat and choke him.

“Is… This isn’t about this morning, is it?” Dean asks, anxiety and concern clearly displayed in his eyes.

The lies shift and crack, releasing a high wordless whine and Dean’s face morphs into an alarmed expression.

“Oh God,” he says, stepping back and away, carefully putting some much needed distance between them and looking at Castiel with something like panic. “Why did you— Why didn’t you— Cas?”

“It was supposed to be a gift,” Castiel admits woodenly. He’s unable to move from the door, his back pressed against it. There is a war within him, He wants to go to Dean so he can make it better and yet he is disgusted and terrified at the thought of being touched by him. “I didn’t expect this.”

“What does that mean?” Dean asks, eyeing Castiel critically. “A gift? You mean you didn’t want it?”

Castiel wordlessly shakes his head. He didn’t. He doesn’t. He wishes he had never done it.

“Cas, baby no,” Dean whispers. “That’s not… It’s supposed to be good for both of us. If it isn’t we don’t do it.”

Castiel shakes his head, not in rejection, but in confusion.

“You’re saying that you _enjoy_ oral sex?” he asks.

“Yeah dude,” Dean replies, shocked that it’s even a question. Castiel blinks rapidly and looks up at the ceiling. It’s unimaginable to him, but it makes sense considering what Castiel knows now.

“Oh. I didn’t realize.”

Dean makes a choked sound, somewhere between horror and exasperation and sinks down onto the couch with his head in his hands. He pulls himself together and looks back up to hold Cas’s gaze.

“Cas, when it comes to sex, _any_ kind of sex,” Dean emphasizes, “it’s only worth doing if we’re _both_ having a good time. Don’t go making yourself a martyr because you think I need you to be. This was already more than I was expecting.”

The words sting and rub the wrong way. Logically, he understands what Dean means, but hearing it spoken aloud how _wrong_ he is, how unnatural, by Dean especially, is like a slap to the face.

“Of course,” he says, voice sharp, bitter, and sarcastic. “You were expecting a life of celibacy when you married me. Give me some credit, Dean. We both know you wouldn’t last in a relationship without sex. It would’ve only been a matter of time before you found your release somewhere else.”

Jaw hanging and eyes bugged, Dean looks like he’s been sucker punched. Guilt immediately swells in Castiel gut, but he can’t make himself take back the words. They’ve been swirling just under the surface of his thoughts for too long, eating away at him. It’s almost therapeutic throwing them out for Dean to do with as he will. Consequences be damned.

“That’s what you think of me?” Dean says, anger rapidly swooping in to replace the shocked hurt as he squares his shoulders. “You think I’d cheat on you just to get a good fuck?”

No. Yes. Castiel doesn’t know. As suddenly as it arrived, all of the fight drains out of him, leaving him hollow and tired clear down to his bones. He sags back against the door and rubs at his forehead.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know what I expected. All I know is that you can’t be happy in a relationship without sex and I can’t blame you for it.”

“Okay, first of all, where the hell do you get off thinking you get to tell me what I can or can’t be happy with?” Dean demands. “I’ve been a damn sight happier with you than I have been since my mom died, even before we started fooling around. And second, is that the only reason you wanted to start trying stuff? Because you thought I’d leave you if you didn’t put out? Have you even liked _any of it_?”

Dean’s voice cracks and along with it Castiel’s heart.

“I have. I have. But I— It did add a certain pressure,” Castiel admits.

The emotions that flicker over Dean’s face pass too quickly for Castiel to get a grasp on each one, but he recognizes a fair few; anger, incredulity, and hurt being the three front runners. In the end, hurt is the one that lingers and stays. Dean opens his mouth, but nothing comes out so he closes it and scrapes his hand down his chin and shakes his head. He turns away, like he can’t bear to look at Castiel any longer and wipes at his eyes.

“I don’t know what I did,” Dean starts slowly, “to make you feel like you… like you owe me sexual favors or whatever, but that’s _never_ been what this is about. And honestly, if that’s what you think of me, what the hell are you doing with me? You deserve so much better than that.”

“You didn’t,” Castiel croaks, voice fracturing and breaking as he tries to force the words out around the hard lump in his throat. “Please don’t blame yourself. This is all—,” his voice hitches. “ _All my fault._ I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Then _talk to me_ , Cas,” Dean insists. “I may not know much, but this is stuff I do know and if you’ve got a question, then dammit, _ask_. I don’t care how personal or detailed or vague it is. It’s gotta be better than this shit-fest.”

Castiel nods and sniffs and wipes at his face.

“Baby it’s killing me staying clear over here while you’re crying like that all the way over there.”

A sob bursts out of Castiel’s throat and the tears comes faster. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

Castiel laughs, but nothing is funny. They both know it’s not okay and it won’t be for a while.

“Are you hungry? I made baked spaghetti,” Dean offers. Castiel shakes his head and Dean remains unsurprised.

“I’m tired,” Castiel confesses. He’s not sure if he can sleep, but he’s weary to his bones and he just wants to shut himself away for a while and hopefully come back out feeling more like himself.

“Take the bedroom,” Dean insists. “Do you— I can sleep in Sam’s room tonight if you want.”

“That would probably be for the best,” Castiel agrees quietly. He kicks off his shoes and drops his coat and is halfway to the bedroom when Dean speaks.

“Cas I—,” Dean grits his teeth and lets out a sharp breath through his nose. Castiel waits. “I love you.”’

Castiel’s eyes well with tears again and he sniffs and nods. He can’t say he understands why, but he knows that it’s difficult for Dean to say.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Dean says. “Don’t be sorry. Just don’t ever do that again, okay? I want you just as you are. Don’t you ever change.”

Castiel nods, sniffling pathetically and wiping at his eyes with his sleeves. Across the room, Dean’s eyes are glistening, his fists are cleaned in his lap, and his face is twisted into an expression of pain and longing as though it’s physically harming him that he can’t go to Castiel. It hurts Castiel to looks at. He retreats to the bedroom, unsure of what else to say without making things worse and to hide from the pain he’s caused Dean.

He only allows himself a few minutes to wallow and put himself back together. He needs to make a phone call.

“Sam?”

“Oh God, what’s wrong? What happened? Is Dean okay?”

“I made a mistake,” Castiel admits, getting to the crux of the problem rather than entertaining Sam’s rambling. Sam is silent for a moment and Castiel can hear shuffling in the background like Sam is moving somewhere more private.

“What kind of mistake?” he asks and his voice echoes faintly. He must be in the bathroom.

“The embarrassing kind that’s very difficult to talk about,” Castiel says through thin lips.

Sam laughs, seeming to be relieved that at least no one is dead or in the hospital.

“Okay, tell me what happened.”

Castiel sighs and explains shortly about his asexuality and his ignorance of all things related to sex and then very _very_ briefly recounts what he did and the current fallout.

“Oh… That… That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“Excuse me?” Castiel barks, caught off guard by the unusual response.

“Look,” Sam starts and Castiel can imagine the exact look on his face, eager to impart his knowledge onto others. “I’ve seen the way you and Dean look at each other. It explains why two haven’t been fucking like rabbits all over the apartment. And also, a really weird phone call I got from Dean like a year ago.”

Castiel feels his face flush red and says nothing. Even Sam agrees that Dean abstinence is incredibly unusual, but unlike Castiel, he doesn’t seem to doubt Dean’s monogamy as he immediately launches into an explanation of a website called AVEN. Castiel patiently waits him out as he explains that Castiel should definitely read through the FAQ section and insists that it will help a lot. He even gives Castiel the number of a therapist here in Lawrence that he knows has a good reputation and specializes in LGBT couples, just in case he and Dean want to talk to a professional. Castiel dutifully enters the contact information into his phone, knowing he’ll never use it and then he asks what he really wants to know.

“Sam, do you think…” Castiel takes a deep breath and gathers his courage. “Do you think Dean can be happy with me? Am I holding him back?”

“Cas, man, open your eyes.” Sam doesn’t hesitate. “He _is_ happy. He’s happier than I’ve ever seen him and that’s all thanks to you.”

“No—,”

“Don’t argue. It’s true,” Sam insists stubbornly. “We were skyping last night and all he could talk about was you.”

“That doesn’t mean—,”

“Jess got him talking about some date you guys went on and I swear to God he was glowing, Cas. Dean doesn’t _do_ glowing. I’d bet my entire four year ride that he’s heels over head in love with you.”

Castiel sighs, frustrated that Sam is so caught up on such a small detail.

“He already told me that, but—,”

“Wait what?” Sam cuts him off so sharply that Castiel wonders if he’s said something wrong.

“He told me,” Castiel repeats dumbly.

“He told you, like, used the ‘L’ word and everything, told you?”

Castiel frowns. He knows it was difficult for Dean to say, but is it really so hard to believe? Sam was just betting his entire Stanford career on it and now he’s struck dumb with disbelief?

“Yes. He—,” Castiel rubs his forehead. “The whole reason for the… this morning, he told me without actually saying it and then just now he told me using the specific words. Twice.”

“Holy shit.”

Castiel loses his patience.

“I don’t understand what’s so—,”

“Cas, I’m really sure the last person Dean said ‘I love you’ to was mom.”

Castiel’s jaw snaps shut, nearly catching his tongue. Mary? Mary died in a house fire when Dean was four. It’s not possible that Dean hasn’t told a single soul that he loves them since then; it’s not possible. Not for someone who loves so fully and deeply as Dean.

“Surely, he’s told _you_.” Castiel knows that Dean loves Sam. He’s seen it. But as he thinks back, he doesn’t recall Dean saying so once, not even in jest.

“Nope,” Sam denies. “I mean, he says it, but he doesn’t _say_ it.”

The phrase is completely nonsensical, yet Castiel understands perfectly. Just this morning, didn’t Dean do the same for him? ‘ _You’re it for me_.’ Accusing Dean of future adultery is how Castiel rewarded the confession and yet…

“What if love isn’t enough?”

What d’you mean?” Sam asks, half drowned out by pounding and a shout on his end. “Hold on!” he shouts away from the receiver. “Sorry. My suitemate is a dick,” he says to Castiel.

Castiel ignores the interruption.

“People who love each other leave each other all the time if certain needs aren’t being met. What if love isn’t enough for Dean?”

Sam’s sigh crackles through the line and Castile imagines the put upon look of exasperation Sam gets when he’s asked what he perceives to be a ‘stupid question’.

“Cas, Dean is an all or nothing kind of guy. Once he’s all in, he doesn’t back out. He’s never going to leave you unless you make him. Ever.”

Castiel scowls.

“You don’t know that though.”

“Yes I do,” Sam insists with equal conviction. “I know Dean and with Dean once you’ve earned his trust, his _love_ , there is no out. Dean is… Dean’s a Hufflepuff through and through. He’s loyal to a fault. You could go on a killing spree and he’d still forgive you after he’s given you a piece of his mind. Dean doesn’t give up on people, especially not the people he loves.

I’m almost afraid to find out what he’ll do for someone he’s _in_ love with,” Sam continues. Meaning you in case you were wondering. You’re in for life now, Cas. For better or for worse. Even if you fight every day, he’s not going to walk out on you.”

“Very reassuring, thank you Sam,’ Castiel says dryly, rather than comment on any of the rest of it. It’s a lot to take in, but every bit of it speaks of Dean. And Sam does know him best.

There’s more pounding on Sam’s side of the call and Sam groans.

“Okay! Geez! Sorry Cas. I gotta go. My suitemate needs to take a dump. You gonna be okay?”

“I believe so. Thank you Sam. You’re a good friend.”

“Anytime. Oh and you owe me one,” Sam interjects. “I never needed to know this much about my brother’s sex life.”

“Deal,” Castiel agrees and disconnects.

He lays on the bed for a long time, letting the room go dark around him. The apartment is silent, the only sounds come from the apartments around them. Castiel wonders what Dean is doing. If he’s watching TV or eating alone or maybe he went to bed early too and he’s lying in Sam’s bed much that same as Castiel is, missing him.

Castiel pulls out his phone and fiddles with it for a minute before pulling up the AVEN website Sam told him about and navigates to the FAQ page. He reads every single question and answer, even the ones that blatantly don’t apply to him, and then he goes back and reads his favorite ones again. A weight has been lifted off his chest by the time he’s finished. He’s not unnatural or broken. He’s just a left handed writer in a right hander’s world. And there are so many others…

After reading a rather emotional story he pulls up his last text conversation with Dean and types in _I love you_ and hits send before he can talk himself out of it. The reply comes immediately, like Dean had been staring at his phone waiting or maybe contemplating sending his out message.

 _ily2_ Followed by, _u ok?_

Castiel debates how to answer that. No, he’s not okay, but he’s better and he thinks given a little time he will be just fine, but he’s afraid. There is one thing he knows he wants though and he knows precisely how to get it, or rather, him.

_Come to bed?_

Castiel doesn’t expect another text and puts away his phone to charge. Sure enough, the door creaks open and Dean cautiously enters and hovers in the doorway.

“Are you sure?” he asks. Castiel nods against his pillow and holds his arm out for Dean to crawl under. Dean hesitates, but then starts slowly moving towards the bed, eyes searching for any sign that he may need to back off. Castiel loves him for it, but he’s too slow.

“Has it occurred to you that someday I will die?” he asks dryly, too loud in the darkened room. Dean snorts and his face relaxes.

“Oh shut up.” But the desired effect is achieved and he slides under Castiel’s waiting arm and they curl together.

“I love you,” Castiel whispers against Dean’s temple.

Dean crushes him against his chest and Castiel wonders if he’s trying to embed the words under Castiel’s flesh with his fingertips. He imagines for a moment that he can feel them there, following the paths of his veins and wrapping around him, warm and familiar like Dean himself. Too late, he realizes they are both still fully dressed and the blankets are pinned beneath them, but it doesn’t seem to matter as they drift to sleep in each other’s arms.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Recovery is slow after that first night. Castiel wakes up in the morning in a cold sweat and it’s almost like they’re back at square one. They press on and Castiel stubbornly refuses to let his anxiety get in the way of his and Dean’s relationship. It doesn’t usually work. It seems there are some things that can’t be manipulated by sheer force of will.

Their sex life is on an indefinite hold.

Despite this, every once in a while Castiel will wake up sweating and nauseated from some already forgotten nightmare, but he doesn’t flinch away from Dean anymore and they are both grateful for that. They can still cuddle and platonically touch, but kissing on the lips is off limits and Castiel’s intolerance to sex in the media is worse than ever. He’s hyper aware of anything that could be construed as sexual attraction, everything from lingering looks to a frank discussion of who’s hot and who’s not. It’s infuriating. They watch cartoons for an entire week because of it. Dean claims it’s fine because Castiel needs a round education in these things anyway and Castiel lets himself believe it.

Things aren’t perfect but they’re good and Castiel has Dean and really, what more could he want?

Mid November Dean comes down with a nasty flu that knocks him on his ass and Castiel discovers what an abysmal patient he is. He flat out refuses to take anything other than Aspirin or go to the hospital, even when his fever peaks just under 103 degrees. They reach something of a compromise after Castiel threatens to call Bobby and haul him to the nearest Urgent Care clinic kicking and screaming if Dean doesn’t give on something.

Dean agrees to take some flu medicine and put up with Castiel stopping home to check on him every few hours in exchange for the comfort of being sick in his own bed. Castiel gets him the kind that will make him sleep to make sure he doesn’t try to wander off again. The previous day he’d caught him trying to go to the store for tomatoes and rice despite the fact that he couldn’t walk straight let alone drive. Castiel takes the Impala to work rather than the bus, hoping to cut down on his travel time and further strand Dean at the apartment.

He’s antsy the entire four hours until his lunch break. When the noon hour finally arrives, he’s so focused on getting to Dean that he forgets his coat and therefore the keys and has to go all the way back to the employee’s backroom to grab them and then jog back to the far side of the parking lot where the Impala waits under a tree.

Traffic is frustrating. He hadn’t taken into consideration the lunch hour rush when he made his plans with Dean. He can’t feel precious time ticking away and he feels trapped between hurrying home and driving carefully to lower his risk of getting in an accident and destroying Dean’s trust in regard to driving Baby forever. Dean has never told him so in as many words, but the threat was implied the first time Dean reluctantly passed over the keys so Castiel could drive him home from the bar.

Castiel rounds the corner onto their street and his first impression is there’s some sort of street fair going on. There are people milling about all over the sidewalks and yards on both sides of the street. Then he notices they’re all staring in the same direction, talking anxiously and excitedly amongst themselves. Castiel parks at the curb, the parking lot too overrun with people to park in, and looks over to what has captured so much attention.

His stomach drops out and horror clenches at his heart. It’s their complex, their _building_ , and smoke is curling out of the fourth floor window and white lights flash intermittently through the windows. _No, no, no._ Castiel flashes through his morning, did he leave the stove on? The toaster?

There are no fire trucks and Castiel doesn’t hear any sirens. Did anyone call the police? Is anyone coming? _Where is Dean?_ There are so many people, but no one came running at the sight of the Impala, unmistakable as she is especially to Dean. Castiel gives the horn two sharp honks just in case, but while many people turn and look, none of them are Dean and none of them start towards him.

Fighting fumbling fingers, Castiel pulls out his phone and hits speed dial and listens to the phone ring and ring. He doesn’t wait to leave a voicemail, tossing the still ringing phone to the passenger seat where it bounces to the floor. _Oh God, why did I give Dean that medicine?_

Heart in his throat, Castiel sprints from the car towards the apartment. There are too many people, but after he shoves a few, the rest get the picture and get out of his way. Finally, he breaks through and is in the open ground between the mob and the building, he sprints. Someone shouts and a hand grabs his shoulder. Castiel strikes out reflexively and the strange man Dean warned him about on his first day at their apartment falls.

Castiel doesn’t look back as he darts into the open side entrance and immediately slams through the stairwell door. Sick to his stomach and with icy panic flooding his veins, Castiel pounds up the concrete stairs, automatically skipping over the chipped edges and sloping steps as has become second nature over the past months. He doesn’t slow even as the air grows thick and warm.

_Please let Dean be okay. Please don’t let the fire be anywhere near him. Please._

Castiel rounds the final turn up to the third floor and knows immediately that his prayers have gone unanswered. Smoke clouds the small square of glass and Castiel can smell it through the closed metal door. He doesn’t have a single second thought as he kicks open the door without stopping.

The smoke is thick. It burns Castiel’s eyes and clogs his throat. He pulls the collar of his trench coat over his mouth and rushes down the hall practically blind rather than take the extra time to drop to his knees and crawl. Blind fear keeps him from hearing the fire until he’s already almost in front of it. It’s coming from Mrs. Johnson’s apartment directly across from his. Their door is blackened from where the flames have licked at it, trying to get to Dean.

Castiel hopes she’s okay and then kicks in his own front door. It goes down in a shower of splinters and Castiel is through the door and halfway down the hall before they finish falling. There’s smoke in here too, but nowhere near the amount in the hallway. He supposes with the door gone that will change very quickly. He rounds the corner into their bedroom and there’s Dean sleeping peacefully in the middle of the bed exactly where Castiel left him, his chest rising and falling steadily.

A dry sob crack through Castiel’s throat and immediately sends him into a coughing fit. _No, no, no. We need to get out._ His eyes sting and burn, watering uncontrollably now, but Castiel ignores his blurry vision and rushes to Dean.

“Dean, wake up,” Castiel barks and coughs again, his throat raw and abused and now fighting against him when he needs it most. “DEAN!”

Dean’s eyes flit open and he blinks in confusion, green eyes unfocused and his cheeks flushed bright pink with fever. All of Castiel’s hysteria bleeds away and is replaced with cold determination. He will get Dean out of here. He won’t die like his mother.

“Dean you need to get up right now,” Castiel rasps, dragging the covers off of Dean and shoving at his shoulders until he sits up. He weaves and goes to lie down again, but Castiel stops him. He doesn’t have time for this. Dean’s only in a t-shirt and boxer briefs, but there’s nothing Castiel can do about it now other than take off his trench coat and drape it over Dean’s shoulder. It’s all the protection he can offer.

Fuck. Fuck! _Fuck!_ There’s nothing else for it. He’ll have to carry him out, they won’t make it out otherwise.

“W’us goin’ on?” Dean asks blearily, resting his head against Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel suppresses the hysterical laughter that wants to bubble up out of him. Never did he think he’d be grateful for that month of carrying Dean home from the bar, yet here he is putting his skills to the test. Maybe everything does happen for a reason.

“You cookin’ again?” Dean asks, sniffing and making thick snot rattle in his nose.

“No. Dean, I need you cover your mouth with my coat and keep your eyes shut. Don’t ask questions. Just do it.” He doesn’t know how Dean will react to the fire. Last time there was a fire Dean lost his mother. Castiel refuses to lose Dean the same way.

“Mm’kay,” Dean agrees easily and buries his nose into Castiel’s coat as his eyes fall shut. He looks like he could be sleeping. Castiel thinks he hears sirens over the loud crackle and roar of the fire and thinks, they’re too late. He wonders if the fire has eaten through the floor in the hallway yet. No time like the present to find out.

Castiel squats down and eases Dean up onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, making sure the coat covers as much of his bare skin as he can manage. Never, in all the times Castiel had to carry Dean like this, did he think one day he would be using it for its intended purpose.

Dean grunts at the sudden change, but Castiel is already moving before he can voice any complaints. He can see the fire as soon as he steps out of the bedroom. It has spread into the hallway and is creeping past their shattered door, eating away at door fragments and carpets. It surprises him how loud it is. When he’s thought of fires in the past, he always thought of quiet campfires, not this deafening roar. And the _smell_. The smell is retched. If it wouldn’t set off another coughing episode Castiel would gag. It burns his nose and his eyes and all the way down his throat to his lungs where they feel hot and tight. The air itself is hot, suffocating.

If they don’t get out of here right now, they are going to die and Castiel with the knowledge that he couldn’t save Dean.

Castiel squints around the living room with burning, watery eyes, hardly able to see at all. He catches a bright splash of color resting at the end of the couch. It’s the blanket Dean likes on the back of the couch, but gets used so often it’s home seems to be permanently wadded up on one end or the other, otherwise on the floor. Castiel is grateful that it’s not on the floor this time. He’s not sure he would be able to stoop low enough to grab it without dropping Dean or falling over completely.

He snatches up the blanket and yells to Dean over the roar of the flames, “Hold your breath for as long as you can! Now!”

He doesn’t expect that to be very long considering Dean’s condition, but that just means Castiel has to be faster. Dean moves strangely against Castiel’s back and Castiel chooses to assume that means he understands.

He doesn’t waste another second and tosses the blanket over the stretch of flames cutting across his path. It only stifles them for a moment before roaring back with a vengeance and chewing up the fabric until it’s like it was never there, but Castiel is already through. He races down the hall blindly, the smoke too thick for him to keep his eyes open. His grip on Dean is hard enough to bruise and yet he feels Dean’s sweat slickened skin sliding through his own. If they stay much longer the heat will evaporate the sweat and it won’t be an issue any longer, but then they will have much bigger ones. As it is, the heat is unbearable.

Castiel doesn’t see the stairwell door at the end of the hall until he runs into it face first. He cries out when the hot metal sears into his forehead and nose and the panic clouding his chest makes it even harder to breath. He doesn’t have anything to cover his hand with and he doesn’t have time to spare to examine his options, so he grits his teeth, grabs the handle with his bare hand, and pulls.

It’s stuck. He lets go and can’t stop a second cry of pain as he imagines he can hear his own flesh sizzle. Of course he knows that can’t be possible over the volume of the blaze, but it’s not hard to think so. The frame must have warped in the heat and molded around the door. Castiel swallows a sob and adjusts Dean on his back. If he can’t hold it together Dean is going to die here.

His shoulders ache, his lungs burn, and his hand is throbbing, but he grabs the handle again and yanks.

This time the door wrenches free and Castiel tumbles through, leaving some of his skin behind on the handle. The stairwell has considerably less smoke than the hallway, but Castiel’s eyes won’t stay open. They’re stinging and burning sending a constant flush of tears down his cheeks, but it’s not enough. Castiel trips down the stairs recklessly, driving them away from death with every step, desperate to leave behind the heat and smoke.

He doesn’t slow enough for the turns and pings off of unseen walls, doing his best to protect Dean’s head as he half runs, half falls down the stairs. He wants to sob and cry, the further he carries them down, away from the suffocating heat, but instead what comes out is a cough and then he can’t stop. His legs are barely holding them up, only managing to keep them from falling due to the forward momentum and intermittent walls. The second he stops he won’t be able to stand and if he falls, he won’t be able to get back up.

Coughing and gasping, Castiel finally finds the end of the stairs and wills his trembling legs and the light feeling in head, just a little further, _please_ just a little further. He collides with something hard and it sends him reeling back, desperately trying not to fall on Dean. The thing grabs at him and Castiel manages not to fall, but he can’t see. _He can’t see._

He swings wildly at the thing and doesn’t connect. He must protect Dean, but everything is getting fuzzy and he can’t see and something is in here with them and he can’t see.

He can’t _breathe_. His great hacking coughs only get worse as he tries to fight off whatever is after them and then finally, his legs give out. He crashes to his knees and is surprised to find grass beneath them, but his panic is still full force and it’s only in a dull, removed part of his brain that he registers it at all.

Dean falls from Castiel’s shoulders as he loses his grip and hits the ground with a muffled grunt. Something is wrong. Dean’s breathing is funny. Castiel needs to check on him, but he can’t see and there’s someone grabbing at him, shoving something at his face. He lashes out again and the something leaves just in time for Castiel to drop to all fours and vomit.

Castiel chokes on the bile and it burns, God it burns. Dean groans somewhere behind him and Castiel is infuriated that he is so useless to him right now. Something is very wrong and if only Castiel could open his eyes he could help him, he could dispose of their attacker, and they could get out of this hell. He hears someone speak and Dean make a sound of panic and Castiel is launching himself towards the voices before making a conscious decision to. _Where is he?_

He pats the grass until he finds the soft cotton of Dean’s t-shirt covering the shape of a shoulder and he latches on with his uninjured hand. He won’t lose Dean again. It’s getting hard to focus, but as long as he’s connected to Dean they will make it through this. He will ensure it.

“Sir, please. We’re only—,”

Castiel feels Dean’s being pulled away from him and reacts. His hand collides sharply with what feels like a nose. There’s sharp cry and Dean is no longer being dragged off.

“Stay away from him!” The words tear through his throat, sending him to his hands and knees with hacking coughs, shielding Dean’s body as best he can while trying to regain control. He manages a stiff kick to a faceless being before he is stopped in his tracks.

“Castiel! You stop!”

Castiel catches his breath, now coming out in short wheezing gasps and tips his head in the direction of the unfamiliar voice that knows his name.

“Who are you?” he demands, his voice a barely audible rasp. It hurts to speak, but he continues, stark terror painting the words. “I can’t,” he takes a small shallow breath. “I can’t see.”

“I’m Mrs. Johnson. From across the hall? These people are trying to help you, Castiel.”

Recognition flashes through the muddled turmoil in his head, then shock and finally relief.

“Your apartment. It’s on fire. I thought you were dead.”

Mrs. Johnson speaks again and it sounds like she’s might be wearing a smile. “Well let’s be glad I’m not and let these people take care of you boys.”

“I stay with Dean,” Castiel insists, tightening his hold on Dean’s shoulder like someone may try to physically tear them apart as whatever frailness is purged from his tone.

“I’d let him do as he pleases,” a new voice, deep and unfamiliar, adds. “He’s got a mean left hook.”

“Who’s that?” Castiel demands.

“That’s my Henry,” Mrs. Johnson says. “You gave him a nasty black eye and a split lip when he tried to stop you from running inside.”

Castiel vaguely recalls someone trying to pull him back, but everything is getting very muddled and confusing.

“Dean was dying,” he says. This he knows to be the truth. That he remembers clear as day. The all-encompassing need to get to Dean as fast as possible.

“I ain’t sayin’ I blame you. Now stop being stubborn and go. You look like hell.”

Castiel hesitates and then finally nods. Something is still wrong with Dean and in the state he’s in, Castiel is unable to figure out what it is or help him.

Castiel tenses as kind and deft hands secure something over his face and glorious air rushes into his lungs. They pick up his hand and he winces and tries to pull away, but firm hands grip his and a soothing voice assures him they are here to help.

“What’s wrong with Dean?” Castiel’s voice is muffled. “Something’s wrong.”

“Your friend looks like he’s in shock,” the kind voice informs him, something grim in her tone sets Castiel on edge. “He’s conscious, but he’s unresponsive. He won’t look away from the fire. I would recommend you talk to him, but you really shouldn’t be speaking with the smoke damage to your esophagus and vocal cords.

“His mother died in a fire,” Castiel tells her and then promptly ignores her advice and starts up a long rambling one-sided conversation with Dean.

He refuses to leave Dean’s side or cease the constant flow of calm reassurances and promises, despite the charred feeling of his throat scratching against itself, the awkward mask over his face, and the horrible, horrible drops they put in his eyes that burn worse than the smoke. Even as they’re guided across the grass to what Castiel is told is the waiting ambulance, he keeps a steady hand on Dean’s shoulder and talks him through where they’re going.

Castiel trips several times and the only thing that keeps him from falling completely and probably taking Dean down with him is the disembodied hand under his elbow. The physical activity makes his lungs ache with renewed agony, but he presses on, regardless of how breathless and hoarse he is.

Without warning, Dean lurches under Castiel’s hand and gasps, “Oh God”. Dean jerks back the way they just came, but Castiel is ready and yanks him back and bars his forearm across Dean’s collarbone to hold him there as he pushes against him.

“Dean stop.”

“Sammy,” Dean exhales, terror in in voice. “I have to get Sammy.”

“Sam isn’t here, Dean,” Castiel says as loudly as his abused throat will allow as Dean continues to fight him. “He’s at Stanford.”

Castiel shoves at Dean and is surprised when Dean’s back slams into something solid. He manages to crack his eyes open and focuses enough to see it’s the ambulance that he’s suddenly pinning Dean against, lights flashing as though ready to pull away any moment. Dean is still struggling to get away and run senselessly into the burning building.

“Dean!” Castiel shoves him hard. “Sam’s safe.”

Dean finally stops trying to get past him and looks Castiel in the face, although Castiel isn’t sure he’s actually seeing him. From what Castiel can tell with his limited vision, Dean’s eyes are glazed and unfocused and blown wide above his own plastic oxygen mask. He wonders how much of it is from the shock and how much is from the fever.

“Mom?” Dean asks, and the hope in his tone causes Castiel’s heart to die in his chest. He’s glad he can’t fully see the look on his face.

“No, Dean. She’s not here either.”

He isn’t sure if Dean grasps the full meaning of that statement or if he’s simply content to think his mother is safe with Sam until the delusion fades and reality sets back in, but Dean stops fighting and they finally make it into the ambulance. Castiel insists that Dean take the gurney because he’s sick and is glad he did when Dean lays down and immediately passes out. He keeps his uninjured hand fisted into the fabric of Dean’s shirt and gratefully closes his eyes, content to ignore the people buzzing around him cleaning wounds and applying cream.

As the adrenaline finally begins to fade, Castiel wonders if they would mind if he just laid down here on the bench. Just for a little while. He needs to rest. His head is aching along with the entire rest of his body. Just for a minute. He’s going to lay down. He is vaguely aware of someone saying something and an irritating hand jostling his sore shoulder, but then he’s asleep and it ceases to matter.

 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**.**

**— Dean —**

**.**

What a weird fucking dream. Dean wakes up slowly, like he’s unsticking his limbs from a bed of tar. His head is throbbing though and the pain of it cuts sharply through the muck and drags him along with it. It’s not just his head he realizes as he’s brought further into the waking world. It’s everything. His muscles ache like he ran a marathon and then turned around and swam across the Atlantic. Even his face hurts. His nose is so full of mucus the pressure of it is worsening his headache.

And his dream… He’s dreamed about the fire before, many times, but usually he just sees his mom and leaves her to burn as he saves Sammy instead. This time though… Well it was fucking weird.

Cas was there for one thing. He was Dean’s dad at first, but then he morphed into Cas with tears all over his face and soot smeared everywhere, pale and terrified. And he carried Dean out. Dean didn’t realize how wrong it was until they were outside and the ambulance turned on its lights and Dean realized they were _leaving_. They couldn’t leave without Sam. That’s not how it’s supposed to go.

If Cas carried out Dean, then who saved Sam? It wasn’t right. Then dream Cas reminded him that Sam’s at Stanford which, _duh_ , only in the dreams he’s just a baby, but this one changed that too. And so Dean thought, maybe it had changed something else too. So Dean asked about his mom. If Sam wasn’t there then maybe his mom was okay too. Cas told him that she wasn’t there, but Dean could tell by how sad Cas looked that he was lying. She burned in the fire. She always burns.

For almost 20 years the dream has been constant, unchanging, and never feeding off the present, ever. So why change now?

Dean groans and rolls onto his side and immediately notices that several things are wrong. The drag of the blankets over his skin isn’t as soft as it’s supposed to be, the bed doesn’t have as much cushion as his, there’s a beeping he doesn’t recognize, and the smell is _wrong_. He bolts up into a sitting position and the room blurs around him before slowly coming into focus, his heart beating in his head.

_Fuck_ , he thinks, taking in the hospital room around him, _maybe it wasn’t a dream_ …

His eyes catch on the bed beside him and the world warps around him as he stares in horror.

It wasn’t a dream.

Dean stumbles from his bed, luckily not hooked up to anything, and trips, barely catching himself on the edge of the second bed.

“Oh God.”

Cas doesn’t finch as Dean jars the bed, almost falling onto it as his legs give out. He’s lying on his back, tubes and wires everywhere, pale and unresponsive and if it wasn’t for the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the rise and fall of Cas’s chest, Dean would be worried he was dead. He not though. He’s not. He’s not. And he’s not going to be.

The skin on Cas’s nose and forehead is red and charred looking and Dean has no idea how it got that way. He thinks back to his last memories and he can’t figure out what really happened and what his mind warped into something else. He remembers Cas waking him up and Dean thought he could smell something, but his nose was so clogged he wasn’t sure what. He could taste it in his mouth more than smell it.

Then it got weird. Cas hiked him up over his shoulder and stormed out of the bedroom and Dean remembers feeling really hot and he thought it was his fever or maybe embarrassment over Cas hauling him away like he was drunk again. There was a rushing sound, but Dean thought it was in his head, some side effect of being sick and so stuffed up and practically upside down.

He didn’t know what was going on until Cas turned funny and went to grab something and Dean caught sight of the fire. After that everything gets pretty fuzzy. He remembers Cas telling him to do something, close his eyes, hold his breath, something. And then Dean sort of blocked everything else out except the feel of Cas’s trench coat clenched in his hands. He knew if he didn’t hang onto something real and from his life he has now, he would fall back into the nightmare of his childhood.

The next thing Dean remembers for sure is the feel of grass under his cheek and Cas’s hand holding onto his shoulder so tight he’s sure Cas’s fingerprints are permanently bruised into his flesh. He could have told him to loosen up, but it was the only thing keeping him grounded in reality. He couldn’t smell anything but he remembers what a house fire smells like and it was wrapping around him and dragging him under and the only thing holding onto him was Cas.

He remembers it was the lights on the ambulance suddenly coming on that finally snapped his tenuous hold. They flick on and suddenly Dean is four years old and standing on his own front lawn as the paramedics try to convince his dad to get them checked out at the hospital. He’s four and it was his job to get Sammy out, but he can’t find him, he’s not here and Dean doesn’t remember carrying him out. Dean was supposed to carry him out.

Dean tries to run back inside, but his dad stops him. Why would his dad stop him? His dad is the one who told him to get Sammy out. “ _Take Sammy and run_ ,” he said. Then dad’s soot blackened face morphs and it’s Cas’s staring back at him. Cas telling him that Sam is safe. And Dean knows it’s foolish, but if Sam is safe then maybe mom… But Cas never was a good liar. He doesn’t need to say a word for Dean to know that his mom is still gone. Sam is safe, but mom was lost years ago and always will be.

He doesn’t remember anything else after that until he woke up here. He wishes it was just a bad dream, he can handle the nightmares, he always has, but seeing Cas like this and knowing he did this to himself somehow to help Dean churns his stomach and leaves him with a sinking rotting feeling. He needs answers. Why isn’t Cas waking up?

Dean hits the call button for the nurse and alternates between trying not to look at Cas and being unable to look away until someone arrives.

“Ah you’re awake,” the nurse says with a pleasant smile on his face. Dean ignores it and cuts to the chase.

“What the hell happened?” he demands, his voice comes out rougher than he expects, but the nurse doesn’t flinch.

“Well you have a sinus infection coupled with—,”

“Not me,” Dean cuts him off. “What’s wrong with Cas?” His voice cracks. “Why won’t he wake up? What’s going on?”

“I understand you’re confused—,”

“No _shit_ I’m confused. Just answer my _fucking—_ ,” Dean cuts himself off with a harsh sigh and scrubs his hand down his face. “Please.”

The nurse nods and cuts to the chase and manages to confuse Dean further with big words like Carboxyhemoglobin levels and Pulmonary edema, but the cut and dry of it is that Cas is going to have to stay in the hospital for a few days and when he gets out some things may not be the same like his endurance and lung capacity, but who fucking cares. Cas is alive and he’s going to stay that way and everything else can just go take a flying leap for all Dean cares.

Dean wonders for a brief second how the nurse can tell him so much what with HIPAA laws and all that, but then he catches the name at the end of Cas’s bed, _Castiel Winchester_ , and his heart swells with some unnamed feeling and he has never been happier for that shitty spur of the moment proposal than he is right in this moment.

The nurse wants to check him over after Dean has heard everything there is to know and Dean struggles at first, but gives in after the nurse mentions that if they do this now they won’t have to mess with it while Cas is awake. So Dean tolerates the poking and prodding and says “Ahh” like a good boy and makes a mental note to check himself out at the next available opportunity because he is _just fine_ thank you.

Finally, the nurse hands Dean a stack of paperwork that Dean has no intention of filling out and leaves Dean alone in the room for all intents and purposes. Dean tosses the papers onto the unused bed and begins to pace, bare feet slapping the cold tile rhythmically. He doesn’t have his phone. He doesn’t even have pants. He’s still in his t-shirt and underwear from… whenever it was that he went to bed. What day is it? How long has he been out? Dean wishes he would have asked more questions.

It’s dark out, that’s all he knows. He thinks about calling the nurse again, but instead, Dean reaches for the bedside phone and punches in the only number he has memorized.

It rings twice before Sam’s voice answers on the other end of the line and Dean’s throat inexplicably swells up just hearing his baby brother’s voice.

“Heya Sammy,” Dean greets, voice flat despite his attempts to sound normal. There’s a long pause on the other end.

“Oh God, what’s wrong now? This isn’t another sex thing, is it?”

The question comes from left field and knocks a shaky laugh out of Dean.

“No! What the fuck are you talking about? I just—, Never mind. I’m— Cas is in the hospital,” he admits, hand over his face as though to hide his face from his brother that isn’t even there.

“What?! Oh my God, what happened? Is he okay?” Sam explodes from the other end, much more concerned than moments before.

“He’s… He’s gonna be alright,” Dean chokes out. “There was a fire.”

“Shit,” Sam curses. “Are you okay? You weren’t— You weren’t there, were you?” Sam sounds horrified.

“I…” Dean swallows roughly. “It’s my fault. He wasn’t even there and I was and he came in and got me and now he won’t wake up Sammy. I just—,” Dean cuts out with a great shuddering breath. He bites his knuckle until it bleeds, fighting back the sobs that are welling up in his chest. It’s all his fault. If he hadn’t gotten sick, if he hadn’t locked up, if he hadn’t completely checked out of reality… Cas wouldn’t be like this.

The nurse had said something about extreme physical activity and stress in that kind of environment being how he got so bad. The harder he breathed, the faster his heart pumped, the worse it got for him. If Cas hadn’t had to carry Dean out and down three flights of stairs, he’d probably be awake and complaining about being stuck in bed or something. He wouldn’t have lasting damage to his lungs and he wouldn’t have to stay here for three days.

“Dean, I’m coming there.”

“What?” Dean snaps out of his thoughts and checks back into the conversation. Now that he’s paying attention he can hear lots of movement from the other end, like Sam is packing a bag already. Jess’s voice says something in the background.

“No, you don’t— Alright fine,” Sam relents to whatever she said. “Jess is coming too. She’s looking up flights now. I’ll text you when I know when we’ll be in. What hospital are you at?”

Dean doesn’t know. How fucked up is that? He doesn’t even know what goddamn hospital he’s in.

“I don’t— I don’t know—,” Dean’s headache is getting worse. He doesn’t want to leave Cas, even if it’s only as far as the bed across the room, but he can’t lay down with him either without disturbing the tubes and wires all over him. He settles for a hard plastic chair and puts his head in his hands.

“Never mind,” Sam says, sensing Dean’s distress. “I’ll figure it out. There’s only like three anyway. Have you called Bobby?”

“No.” Dean immediately feels like shit for not even thinking about Bobby. “I don’t have my phone.”

“That’s okay. I’ll call him. You just focus on you and Cas.”

Like Dean could focus on anything else right now. His eyes dart to Cas against his will and he feels nauseated all over again. He’s just so pale. Cas has always been pretty tan. He prefers the outdoors over being cooped up inside no matter the weather, and his runs keep him fit. Dean doesn’t like seeing him like this. It’s not natural. But thinking about Cas reminds him…

“Anna and Gabriel,” Dean says.

“I’ll get Gabe,” Sam assures him. “He’s only a few blocks over and he’ll know how to get ahold of Anna. Don’t worry Dean. I’ll take care of everything else. You just take care of Cas, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean breathes.

“And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Take care of yourself too, alright?”

“Yeah. Right.”

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Bobby arrives not even an hour later and Cas is still out. Dean has managed to figure out that it’s still Tuesday, if barely, the fire happened around noon and it’s going on ten when Bobby shoves through the door, a fat Walmart sack stuffed with clothes in one hand and a greasy brown paper sack in the other.

“You look like shit,” is the first thing Bobby says.

They eat burritos in hard plastic chairs, Dean still in his underwear, but neither say anything. Dean kinda wonders how Bobby got in even though Dean’s sure visiting hours are over, but he’s too tired to make a fuss about it.

Bobby is frowning up at the dry erase board that the medical personnel use to make notes about Dean and Cas without having to talk to each other. Dean wonders if Bobby understands what any of it means. It’s all gibberish to Dean. The only thing he understands is the note that mentions they’re spouses.

There’s a ruffle of fabric from Cas’s bed and Dean drops his burrito without a second thought.

“Cas?” he chokes. He scrambles to stand and manages to knock his chair backward in the process, but then he’s leaning over Cas and Cas blinks his blue eyes open and focuses on Dean and everything else ceases to matter; not the tubes and wires or the charred skin on Cas’s face or the lasting lung damage. All that matters is Cas is alive.

Dean doesn’t realize that he’s crying until a tear plinks down onto the tube coming out of Cas’s throat helping him breath. Dean sniffs and wipes at his face.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, but Cas shakes his head ever so slightly and his fingers twitch towards Dean. Dean doesn’t waste another moment before twining their hands together, selecting the hand on the far side of Cas rather than the bandaged one closest to him. Cas squeezes Dean’s hand and his grip is weak, but it’s there and it’s all Dean can do not to break down into ugly sobs.

“Don’t you ever do that again, you asshole,” Dean orders. Castiel just curls his lips a tiny fraction at the corners and continues to look up at Dean like he’s never seen anything so worth dying for in his entire life.

Meanwhile, Bobby sits across the room and calmly fills out the neglected paperwork.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

The next days blur by in a rush of visitors interspersed with check ups from various nurses and long bouts of boredom where Dean has to convince Cas that he really does have to stay in the hospital and no, they are not going to sneak out and yes, Dean will tie him down to the bed if he has to, and no, it will not be sexy. Okay, it might be a little sexy, but they won’t be doing any of that until Cas’s breathing gets better and then they lapse into petulant silence because Cas doesn’t like being reminded that there are things he can’t do anymore, or at least for a long time.

Dean’s heart broke at the look on Cas’s face when the doctor told him that there will be long term affects to his lungs and that running may not be an option anymore. She directed him to a website with different breathing techniques to strengthen the lungs with the stipulation that he take it slow and not overdo it. Dean took one look at the stubborn determination creasing Cas’s face and made a mental note to keep an extra vigilant eye on him when he’s doing those exercises.

Cas tells him that he’s babying him, but Dean isn’t. He’s not. He’s just concerned and for good fucking reason too. Cas can be a defiant little jackass when he puts his mind to it and his health is not something that Dean is willing to fuck around with.

Gabe ends up flying in on the same flight as Sam and Jess. It turns out he’s much less annoying when he’s all pale and scared and worried. It’s nice to know he’s capable of the complete spectrum of human emotion, despite how short lived the experience is. Within the day, he’s back to his old prankster self, poking fun at Dean for being the damsel in distress and blowing everything out of proportion by skipping straight past the whole knight in shining armor cliché and straight up calling Castiel an angel who pulled Dean out of hell citing that he’s already got the name of an angel, now he’s got the kickass hero story of one too.

Dean resents him for it, but he can’t fault the comparison. It really did feel like being pulled from Dean’s own personal hell. The only thing that would have completed the picture would be if Sam had been there too. Thank God he wasn’t.

Anna arrives a day later in a whirl of red hair and just as fiery admonition that Castiel never do that again. Ellen, Jo, and Charlie all arrive that day too and somehow Dean finds himself, Bobby, Sam, and Gabe all kicked out so the girls can get their fill of fawning or whatever. Dean lasts about 20 anxiety ridden minutes in the hospital cafeteria before Sam gets fed up with his fidgeting and tells him to go trade places with Jess.

Dean does so gladly and Cas seems to be relieved to see him back and gives him a little smile from across the room. Dean smiles back and they hold eye contact until Jo complains that they’re being disgusting and if they can’t knock off the whole happily married grossness, she’ll kick Dean out again. Dean doesn’t need to be told twice and is content to sit back and watch how the others interact with Cas.

He seems surprised that so many people want to see him. The once barren room is now filled with stuffed animals and flowers and shit from Cas’s coworkers who stopped by after Cas finally reminded Dean that someone needed to call in his absence to work. Apparently they’d all been pretty worried when he never came back from his lunch break and every call to his and Dean’s phones went to voicemail. This apparently translates to them feeling obligated to come tell him just how worried they were and leave him gifts. They never stay long, thank God, and Cas seems to appreciate the unexpected arrivals, so Dean tolerates them.

The biggest surprise is when Mrs. Johnson and Henry stop by for a visit. Turns out Henry isn’t a kid like Sam and Dean had thought, but a grown man. A grown man that they’ve definitely seen before and Dean’s pretty sure he warned Cas was trouble way back when he first moved in. It’s hilarious to Dean in hindsight. It seems Henry is just as nice as Mrs. Johnson has always claimed and maybe Sam and Dean shouldn’t be such judgmental assholes. They trade shocked glances when Henry hands Cas a bouquet of daisies and Cas apologies for punching him in the nose. _When the hell did that even happen?_ Dean never does get much of a chance to find out, even after their guests all clear out.

He and Cas haven’t had the chance to talk much, despite Dean not leaving his side for any longer than those terrible 20 minutes for the past two days. Cas has to keep the tube down his throat for the first full day and then when they finally take that out, he says it hurts to talk too much so mostly Dean just crawls into bed beside him and they bask in the feeling of the other’s heart beat and the soothing breaths of air.

The nurses were surprised the first time they walked in to find two grown men squashed into the bed together, but if they have a problem with it, they’ve kept it to themselves. The only thing they say about it is to ask Dean to move so they can check over Cas. Dean can’t say he’s happy to move, but Cas’s health is more important than Dean’s comfort so he doesn’t put up too much of a fight. Just enough to let them know he’s not pleased.

Then he’ll stand off to the side and sleepily rub at his eyes as Cas answers mundane questions and follows directions and then as suddenly as the nurse arrived, they’re gone again and Cas is staring imploringly at Dean, waiting for his return.

On the third day, Dean and Cas walk out the front door with Dean’s arm around Cas’s waist and Bobby leading the way with Sam, Jess, and Gabe trailing behind. Anna had to go back already, unable to take off more than a day, but she needed to see with her own eyes that her big brother would be okay. Dean kinda gets it, but he can’t help but think that if it were Sam he’d have moved heaven and earth to stay, school be damned. But then again, that’s the difference between them isn’t it? They don’t have the same kind of closeness to fall back on that Dean and Sam do.

Bobby drives Jess and Sam in his truck, flat out refusing to drive Gabriel anywhere, and Dean follows behind in the Impala with Cas and Gabriel. They get to Bobby’s and Dean tries his damnedest to not think about why they’re here instead of back at the apartment. They get inside and Dean and Cas stop in their tracks at all of the boxes piled in the living room.

“Surprise!” Gabriel exclaims. “We cleaned out your apartment for you and I for one am severely disappointed in the lack of embarrassing material.”

Dean blinks at him blankly. They did what? He supposes that explains why they weren’t in his and Cas’s hair every second of every day. Dean hadn’t even thought to consider why that would be. He was just focused on Cas.

“We?” Cas echoes, his voice a deep rattle, and oh yeah. Did Dean mention that his voice is like fucking _deep_ now? It sounds like he gargles glass for a living, not that Dean’s complaining. It’s sexy as hell.

There’s not much. Maybe ten boxes total. All of the ones that have their clothes in them need to be washed. They reek like smoke when Dean pries one open and Cas’s face goes pale. Dean slaps it closed again and without a backwards glance steers Cas outside into fresh air.

Cas’s breaths are sharp and gasping and his face is twisted in pain.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay.” Dean rubs his hands up and down Cas’s arms like he’s cold, but he can’t think of anything else to do. “It’s okay.”

Cas tips his head forward until it rests on Dean’s shoulder and Dean wraps his arms around him and holds on tight.

“I’m tired,” Cas admits after several minutes. Dean nods, knowing exactly what Cas means and it’s not that he’s sleepy, but he suggests they go to bed anyway. It’s easier to ignore the fallout if they don’t have to watch everyone walk on eggshells around them.

The nightmares start that night. Technically, Dean has been having them forever, but they’ve changed, warped by the fire. It starts as it always does; his mom stands beside Sammy’s crib, bleeding and burning. She stares at Dean sadly with something like pity, but she never screams. She never says a word. Then dad’s voice roars in his head, “Take your brother and run!” and Dean jolts into motion. He scoops the bundle of blankets from the crib and flees the room, leaving his mom to burn.

He looks back, he always looks back, only when he does it’s Cas now, not his mom, but the sad look is the same. The blanket unravels in his arms and there’s nothing there. Sam’s back in his crib and the crib is on fire. Cas is just staring, calmly burning. The second Dean decides to go back the door slams shut in his face. Then the screaming starts.

That’s usually when Cas shakes him awake. Sometimes Dean wakes screaming and sometimes he’s completely rigid, paralyzed, but it’s always with dread in his gut and panic ripping through his chest and the only thing that makes it better is Cas wrapping him tightly in his arms.

He doesn’t know what Cas dreams about. He doesn’t ask and Cas doesn’t say, but Dean can imagine what pulling someone from hell can do to your head. He’s lived it, so he knows baring his soul isn’t going to help any. Nothing will. So Dean holds him those nights when Cas wakes up screaming for Dean and he waits for him on the nights he crawls out of bed trembling and covered in sweat and sits in the bathroom for an hour with all of the lights on and the shower running. When Cas returns to bed Dean wraps him in his arms and holds him close, never asking why his hair is still dry.

They sleepwalk through the Thanksgiving motions and Sam goes back to school and things get worse. They get the call that their apartment has been repaired and is ready for their return and despite the foreboding brewing in Dean’s gut, they take their things and move back in. The nightmares become a nightly occurrence and Cas doesn’t have a lifetime of dealing with them to help him through. He stops eating and starts calling into work. Dean doesn’t give two shits if he works, but he _has_ to eat. He tries everything he can think of, even talking Bobby into sending him home with some of his burgers, but even then Cas only takes a few bites before pushing his plate away and going back to bed. Something has got to give and Dean knows what he has to do.

He starts looking into apartments. First thinking, anywhere but here will do, but it’s just as hard as when he first started looking after dad died. Nowhere is good enough for Cas within their limited price range. On a whim, he starts looking at houses and is blown away when he sees that a mortgage payment on little two-bedroom house is half the price of rent for a tiny one-bedroom apartment in a halfway decent neighborhood.

He gets excited for the first time in weeks. They could put this all behind them if Dean could just find them somewhere to start over. He dives into his project, content in knowing that this is the very best thing he can do to help Cas. He gets apps on his phone so he can scope out each one for potential homes during his breaks at work. It becomes almost second nature, whenever he has a down moment to click open the Zillow app and scroll through the latest houses on the market. But of course, it’s never enough.

One day, Dean comes home from work to Cas sitting in the bathtub, fully clothed with the shower pouring ice cold water down on him, sobbing uncontrollably with the smell of burnt toast lingering in the air. Dean shuts off the water and can hardly understand a word Cas says, but he holds him close, dripping clothes and all and his heart aches to see Cas in so much pain and know he can do nothing to fix it. Well, almost nothing.

That night, he lays out his master plan and it’s underwhelming to say the least.

Cas isn’t at all interested in looking at the houses that he’s selected as the major contenders and when Dean tries to bring up his list of favorites to show him anyway, Cas rolls over on the bed, putting his back to Dean and pretending to sleep. It hurts more than Dean would have thought. He thought he was helping, he thought this would make Cas better, but Cas won’t even give it a chance.

Two days later, Dean walks in the front door and Cas is sitting on the couch, watching him, like he’s been waiting. Dean’s heart starts up double time in his chest, dread pools in his stomach. _No, no, no, no, no_.

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice no less raspy than four weeks ago when he was released from the hospital. “Please sit. I need to speak with you.”

Like Dean’s a fucking child being sent to the principal’s office. It rubs Dean wrong, but the dread in his gut is quickly turning into terror. His palms are sweaty as he wordlessly sits on the edge of the couch. _This is it_ , he thinks. _It’s all over_.

“Dean, I’m starting therapy on Thursday.”

It takes Dean’s brain a second to catch up. It’s not what he was expecting. It didn’t sound anything like the, ‘ _I can’t do this. It’s not working_ ,’ that he was bracing himself for.

“You’re— For your breathing?”

“No, Dean,” Cas tells him, his face horribly blank. It’s impossible to figure what he’s thinking.

“Like, a shrink? Why?” Dean asks. It blows him away that he had no idea this was coming. He didn’t even know it was something Cas was considering, let alone something that he could just jump into this soon. When was the last time they talked?

“I think we both realize that I’m not getting any better. Sam gave me a number a while ago and yesterday I called it.”

“Wait,” Dean holds up a hand. “Sam is in on this?” It catches him by surprise how much that hurts. You’d think what with he and Cas being married and all, the little inferiority complex where Sam is concerned would no longer be an issue, but apparently _Sam_ knows about this major life change that Dean is only just now finding out about.

Cas sighs. “There’s nothing to be ‘in on’, Dean. He gave me the number last month after… the other thing, but I didn’t want to invite someone else in on our relationship. So I didn’t call.”

A confusing whirl of emotions whips through Dean like a whirlwind. There’s relief at hearing Cas refer to what they have as a ‘relationship’ still, despite Dean feeling like they haven’t had a real conversation since before the fire, but there’s hurt there that Dean doesn’t quite understand. It wells up and absorbs everything until that’s all that’s left.

“Oh, but now you do?” he snaps.

Cas frowns at him, disapproval clear, but not surprised, Dean notes. Dean’s always been an asshole.

“This isn’t about our relationship, Dean. It’s about me and my issues. I just need someone to—,”

“Talk to?” Dean interrupts, voice cracking. Cas’s expression deflates and Dean has to look away. He knows he’s not being fair. _He knows_. But he can’t stop. The hurt and pain he’s been ignoring for weeks, tying down and resolutely dismissing, it encompasses everything and spills out of him beyond his control and it’s Cas that it chooses to lash out at. Why does it feel like he’s been stabbed in the back?

Cas’s face goes soft and lights with understanding and Dean hates it. How dare Cas accept and understand this treatment of him, regardless that Dean is the one dishing it out.

“Dean, I’m not choosing someone else over you,” Cas says and Dean’s resolve to be an even bigger asshole vanishes out from underneath him. “I want to talk to you about this but I can’t. I don’t know how. That’s why I need outside help. And don’t try to tell me you could help because we both know you’re not any better at this.” Okay. Yeah. Point. “Bottling all of this up is…”

Dean’s sore heart tugs as Cas trails off his face falling into a soul crushing expression of pain that he can’t give voice to. Yeah, Dean’s felt that pain before and he knows what it can do to a person. It’ll eat you alive if you let it.

Cas clears his throat and looks him square in the eye. “It’s not good for me and clearly I’m not handling this well. I am in need of professional assistance or this could destroy our relationship and that’s not something I’m willing to risk.”

“Alright,” Dean agrees reluctantly, almost wishing to see the whole endeavor crash and burn.

Two days later, he drives Cas down to a squat brick building downtown and leaves him outside the doors. When he picks Cas up an hour and a half later, Cas is quiet and his cheeks are tear stained and Dean thinks more surely than ever that there is no way this is going to work. It eats at him over the next few weeks, watching Cas keep going and always coming back out of there looking like he handed over part of his soul only to have it dropped to the ground and left there like trash.

When Cas’s nightmares start to taper off Dean chalks it up to the passage of time, despite his own having last almost two decades. When Cas starts to smile again and cuddle with Dean on the couch in front of the TV, Dean attributes it to the new trench coat he bought to replace Cas’s old one that was too singed and smoky to salvage. When he catches Cas laughing on the phone with Sam, well… Sam’s always been better with people’s feelings anyway.

It’s Charlie who opens his eyes and draws him out of his bitter internalized hatred to see what’s happening right in front of him. They’re out at the Roadhouse at Cas’s insistence that they get out of the apartment. Cas has been dragged away by Ellen and Jo to do a line of shots… again. They’re super impressed with Cas’s tolerance, just one of his many superhuman abilities. This leaves Dean and Charlie in the booth, Dean bitching relentlessly about how much Cas’s therapist is costing them and what a waste of time it all is while Charlie’s pinched look grows more and more pronounced. If only Cas would stop going they could afford a down payment on a house and get the hell out of their shitty apartment.

“Look at him, Dean,” Charlie interrupts, pinching his chin between her finger and thumb and to turn Dean’s head towards the bar. “ _Look_. Tell me he’s not the happiest you’ve ever seen him.”

Dean scoffs, but he does look and just then, Cas throws back his head in a laugh that shakes his whole body. Dean pays more attention after that; not just that night, but for the next couple days he sets aside all of his feelings of inadequacy and just _looks_. It’s amazing what he sees and Charlie’s completely right. Cas is the happiest that Dean’s ever seen him.

He thought he knew what Cas looked like happy; small smiles and tender touches. But this is something else entirely. He’s completely at peace with himself. He has no qualms calling Dean on his bullshit and he does things that he likes without worrying about how they will be viewed. He’s jogging short distances, taking it easy like he’s supposed to, but he’s already lasting longer than he was last week.

Dean wakes up Saturday morning to a note on the door telling him that Cas went to the farmer’s market that they do in the mall during the winter months and later Cas comes home with locally made honey and homemade bread and a new quilt to go over the back of the couch.

“I thought you would like a new one,” is all Cas says, smiling at Dean and something in Dean fractures at the hopeful look on Cas’s face. Dean steps into Cas’s arms for the first time in what feels like eons and Cas accepts him immediately. They cling to each other like if they let go they’ll drift apart all over again, Cas warm against Dean’s chest and where Dean fists his hands into the back of his sweater and tucks his face against his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you,” Cas whispers like it’s a long held secret. He’s only been gone a few hours, but Dean knows what he means.

Dean checked out after the fire, pushing away everything that could make him think about anything to do with himself. He tried to channel everything into Cas instead so when Cas turned away and sought help from elsewhere Dean didn’t know what else to do. He folded in on himself and pushed everyone away. He couldn’t quite push Cas away, though he tried. Instead they’ve gone through the motions of their lives together; work, eat, sleep and repeat.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispers into Cas’s shoulder.

“It’s okay. I understand. Just… please don’t go away again. Please?”

“I won’t,” Dean promises.

They spend the afternoon together, no TV, no distraction and they just talk. They haven’t talked in so long Dean feels like he hardly knows what Cas is going through anymore, especially when Cas tells him his eyesight hasn’t gone back to normal yet and he’s afraid he needs glasses now. And Cas talks a lot about his therapy and his therapist, Inias. Dean’s not sure how to feel about it at first, but the more Cas talks about it the more he can see how it helped him and then he starts to think… Maybe there’s something to it after all. Maybe Cas isn’t the only one in this relationship that needs to get their shit sorted out.

He doesn’t say anything then. The last thing he wants is to be pressured into doing something just because he knows Cas wants him to. He may not know much, but he does know that something like this is only going to work if _he_ wants it. He wants to be sure it’s something he can do, something he can stick to before he gets Cas’s hopes up. He can only disappoint so many people.

It’s not until December that he tells Cas. Sam’s on winter break and is home for the holidays, but at the moment it’s only Cas and Dean in the apartment. Dean figures he might as well get it out of the way as quickly as possible and clears his throat to get Cas’s attention. Cas puts down the stack of t-shirts he’d been about to put away and faces Dean with a concerned frown, his eyes behind his brand new thick black framed glasses tracking Dean’s nervous ticks; the hand rubbing the back of his neck and his thumb tapping restlessly against his thigh.

“Is everything alright?” he asks.

“I uh, signed up for counseling,” Dean admits out of the blue.

“You…” Cas trails off, staring at Dean wide-eyed. “What? Why? I mean,” he shakes his head, back tracking. “That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you, truly I am. Just… I don’t understand.”

Dean scuffs his socked foot into the carpet and shrugs, saying nothing. He rubs the back of his neck again and sighs.

“Shit, I don’t know, Cas. I just… You started going and… You know, I thought I’d seen you happy before. I thought I knew what happy looked like on you, but lately… You’ve just been at a whole new level. You smile more and you don’t stress over stuff you used to and you’re more confident and you just… God, it sounds stupid, but you glow, man. And I… I kinda want that for me too. I wanna get better, too.”

Castiel throws himself at Dean, crashing into his chest and wrapping his arms around him tight enough to strangle, his glasses digging awkwardly into Dean’s shoulder. He hesitates, but returns the hug, carefully placing his arms around Cas’s lower back. After a long moment Cas steps back, but keeps his arms linked around Dean’s neck and Dean lets his hands fall to rest on Cas’s hips. Cas bestows upon him a warbly smile, eyes shiny with restrained tears.

“I’m glad, Dean,” he says, and yeah, Dean already knows. He can see that light, that soul deep happiness radiating from Cas’s entire being. His eyes shine with it.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean grunts back, fixing Cas’s glasses so they no longer sit crooked on his nose before looking away.

Cas drops his arms and Dean reluctantly removes his hands from Cas’s hips and stuffs them into his pockets instead.

“Have you told Sam yet? I’m sure he’s very pleased.”

“Nah, I’ll tell him later,” Dean shrugs and looks past Cas to avoid meeting the warm melty expression aimed at him.

“He’s going to be so excited.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’ll probably wet himself, the big sap,” Dean deflects. “I’m hungry, can we get burgers?”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas agrees with a smile that promises Dean that Cas would gladly fulfill any desire of Dean’s in that moment. Unfortunately, Sam will be home from picking up Gabriel at the airport soon so Dean sticks with the burger idea rather than something more… fun.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

Cas’s “subtle” looks and hints that Dean should tell Sam are going to drive Dean crazy. He finally manages to escape them and is tortured with kitchen clean up duties with Sam instead while Cas and Gabriel argue about sleeping arrangements in the living room. The thing with both Gabriel and Sam visiting at the same time is that they only have one spare bed and its Sam’s so Gabriel has to suck it up and take the couch, which he is not happy about. Fortunately for Sam, Gabriel’s argument that they could just share went over about as well as a shark vacationing in the desert. _Not well_. Not that Sam would even fit on the couch anymore. Dean swears he’s grown another two inches since Thanksgiving and now he won’t shut up about how he’s finally surpassed Dean’s height. Whatever. He’ll always be Dean’s baby brother no matter how much of a freakish moose he becomes.

Sam is chattering on about The College Life™ while he washes the dishes and Dean dries and puts them away. Dean times his moment perfectly as Sam is drawing in a breath in between waxing poetic about some club he wants to join and finally spills the beans with a gruff, “So I’ve got a shrink now”.

Sam’s jaw drops and the fork in his hand along with it.

“Are you serious? That’s amazing, Dean! When do you start?”

“Gee Sam, way to make a guy not feel crazy.” Dean rolls his eyes. “I uh, actually I’ve already had three meetings with this girl, Tessa,” he admits, roughly shoving a plate back into the cupboard so he doesn’t have to face Sam. He decided it’d be weird if him and Cas started going to the same guy so he asked around and found out that Tessa had an opening. There are just some things you don’t do as a couple and spilling your guts about childhood trauma and its subsequent effect on your adult life is definitely one of them.

“Seriously? Figures. How is she? Do you like her?” Sam has stopped all pretenses of washing the dishes and is directly facing Dean, eyes lit with excitement, wet rag forgotten in his hand.

“She’s pretty cool. She gets stuff, you know,” Dean deflects.

“Has she helped at all? I know it’s probably too soon, but have you noticed a diff—,”

“Sam, no offense, but I really don’t want to get into this. I just… thought you should know and now you do,” Dean cuts him off. He’s never been able to be as open about things as Sam and three meetings with a therapist isn’t enough to fix that.

“Oh yeah, course. Sorry, I just want you to be happy is all. It’s about time you started taking care of yourself. You know?” Sam says, puppy eyes out in full force and Dean turns away with a silent groan.

“Yeah Sammy, I know. I’m working on it, but I’m not gonna be giving out progress reports and checking in with mommy, alright? So just—,”

“I get it. It’s fine. I won’t bug you anymore. Just… I’m really glad you did this, Dean. Like, really really glad,” Sam says and his eyes are glassy and starting to get red rimmed and Dean feels like a dick.

“Yeah okay you big softie. Bring it in,” Dean says, holding out his arms and Sam falls forward and squeezes the life out of him, leaving a big wet spot on the back of Dean’s shirt from the rag. Dean pats him a few times and then thankfully Sam pulls back and rubs at his eyes with his sleeves. He finally remembers the rag and tosses it back in the sink with a sheepish smile.

“Are we good here?” Dean asks. “I promised Cas we’d go laser tagging while you guys are here,” Dean pulls a face, but Sammy lights up. Him and Gabe have this weird friendship thing that Dean’s not entirely sure he approves of where they text all the time and Sam and Jess visit Gabe’s bakery every other day, but Sam is happy with it and Gabe understands that Dean will rip his intestines out of his asshole with his bare hands and decorate the Christmas tree with them if he so much as causes Sam a stubbed toe so it’s alright, Dean supposes.

“Lemme change into darker clothes!”

Sam darts back into his room, dishes forgotten, and Dean can’t help but smile fondly as soon as his back is turned. Sam may be a total stick-in-the-mud nerd and shooting up way taller than Dean is comfortable with, but he’ll always be Dean’s dorky kid brother.

**.**

**~*~**

**.**

“We’re slaughtering them!” Sam shouts gleefully into his ear over the sounds of digitized laser fire and prepubescent screaming.

He’s not wrong. Turns out the four of them are more than a match for the pack of 12 year olds they got matched up against. As they left the apartment, Cas and Gabe still arguing over sleeping arrangements and Dean avoiding the sappy looks Sam kept sending his way, he was doubtful of their ability to work as a team. Turns out, all they needed was a collective glance over the sound of pitiful middle school trash talk and everything came together beautifully.

Gabe runs past Sammy with a war cry, gun held aloft with both hands as he rapid fires into the other team’s home base. Sam curses and goes after him, firing over his shoulder and knocking out unseen opponents before they can get a shot out. They work together like they came into being that way, two sides of the same coin. Dean doesn’t like it one bit.

He goes the opposite way, abandoning their base entirely since the kids really don’t have a prayer of catching up, hoping to run into Cas, but knowing that he more than likely won’t. It’s criminal how good Cas is at this game, especially since he’s a first timer. Dean has only caught sight of him twice and one of those times was because he snuck up behind Dean and said “Hello Dean,” nearly giving him a heart attack in the process. Cas lurks around like a fucking ghost, melting into shadows and appearing out of thin air and Dean’s pretty sure it was him that saved his bacon by snipering some punk with a nose ring when Dean got cornered. He’s still not sure how he managed it, but it had to have been him.

It gets eerie the further Dean gets from the main melee and all the ruckus Gabe and Sam are drumming up. He rounds a corner and does a double take as he spots a dark staircase that he hadn’t noticed before now. Curiously, he makes his way up, not knowing what to expect at the top. What he finds doesn’t really surprise him. Cas is tucked in a shadowed corner, only visible due to the flashing red lights on his vest and gun, and pointing the barrel of his plastic gun into the mass of flashing lights below, aiming for yellow.

Dean chuckles as Cas hits his target and a girl throws her arms up looking around in bewilderment for who shot her. He gets the feeling that’s not the first time Cas has got her.

“Hello Dean,” Cas greets without turning away from his task.

Dean props his hip against the wall at the top of the stairs and crosses his arms. It’s really more a balcony than an upper level which is probably why no one else has figured out it exists yet.

“Well if it isn’t our very own avenging angel,” he teases. “You know, you ought to be down in the trenches with the rest of us grunts.”

“I find this to be preferable,” Cas mutters. He aims carefully, tracking an unseen enemy and squeezes off a single shot. With a small satisfied smile, he moves on to his next victim. It’s damn sexy, especially with his new glasses. A long buried glasses kink is surfacing and it’s making Dean’s everyday life rather difficult and Cas is, of course, completely oblivious. “I enjoy watching over you.”

It tugs something in Dean’s chest to hear it, turning him warm and full of... something. With purposeful movements, Dean steps across the balcony and gently nudges Cas’s gun away from his face. Cas pouts and tries to aim around him.

“Dean,” he chastises.

“Aww c’mon,” Dean coaxes. “Sammy and Gabe are doin’ just fine. They’re big boys. They’ll be okay without us.”

That gets Cas’s attention and he turns to Dean with a suspicious can’t to his brow.

“Who are you and where is Dean?” he deadpans. Dean huffs and puts his hands on Cas’s hips, letting his gun dangle by the strap attached to his vest.

“For a little while anyway,” he amends.

“There you are,” Cas says and Dean laughs softly. “I was enjoying shooting the children,” Cas continues, but he lowers his gun and allows Dean to step further into his space until their chests are touching and their breath mingles.

“You can shoot the children some more in a little bit,” Dean says and then presses his lips to Cas’s without giving him and chance to respond. Cas melts against him and while Dean wouldn’t be against a hot and heavy make out, they’ve probably only got a minute of play time left before the next group gets called in and Dean really doesn’t want to be sporting a hard on in front of a bunch of middle schoolers, so he keeps his kisses light, if lingering.

Cas seems to get the memo, or maybe he’s just a really big fan of this mushy stuff, but he kisses lightly back and lets his hands drift up the back of Dean’s shirt just above the band of his jeans where he begins rubbing soothing circles against the cool skin.

“Hey Cas?” Dean asks.

“Hmmm?”

“You know I love you right?” he asks. He’s afraid he hasn’t done a very good job showing it lately, or at least it hasn’t felt like it. They’ve been off ever since the fire, ever since Dean got that blow job that day in the shower actually. But it finally feels like they’re getting back on track. Sure there are things Dean wishes were different. He wishes they could get the hell out of their shitty apartment for one thing, but they aren’t saving money fast enough what with suddenly paying two shrink bills on top of everything else.

But he’s finally getting to where he’s more than just content with life. He’s happy and it’s Cas who makes him that way. Cas when he’s grumpy about having to function in the morning. Cas and his daily runs when he comes home coated in sweat. Cas and his soft kisses and gentle caresses like Dean is something lovely to be cherished and protected. Cas and his quick and hot temper. Cas and his love of all things living whether they be people, plants, animals, or those nasty pill bugs that keep getting into the bathroom somehow.

Sure, Sam might be Dean’s reason to get up and fight every day, but Cas is Dean’s reason to _live_ every day and at this point Dean’s not even sure how he existed before Cas.

Dean watches Cas lift his eyes to meet Dean’s, a sense of wonder there in the vastness of midnight blue. Cas’s hand comes to rest against Dean’s cheek and he looks directly into Dean’s eyes with all of his usual earnest sincerity and says, “And I you”.

The buzzer goes off and the lights come on, signaling the end of the match. The chatter of the group below them crescendos and then fades as they retreat from the room. Dean reluctantly drops Cas’s eyes and clears his throat.

“We should get going before they come hunt us down.”

Cas smirks and moves back against Dean’s front, sliding his hands around Dean’s waist as he cocks his head to the side and says coolly, “They won’t look for us here. I believe it is technically off limits. There was a barrel blocking the stairs and I moved it.”

A slow grin spreads over Dean’s lips, and a brand new stunned appreciation for the man before him blooms in his chest.

“You are something else, Cas,” he whispers. Cas smiles back.

“I love you too, Dean.”

[](http://imgur.com/EnNvQdd)


End file.
